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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153398">Kings and Country</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder'>Wind_Ryder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cat Chronicles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, M/M, Mass Casualties, Monarchies, No Main Character Death, Plague, Political Alliances, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:20:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153398</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Cat and Crown, Yusuf returns to Shams as their King. He announces that Stello Nicolo (Cat) is the rightful heir to the Mezzaluna throne and that their mission will be to see him properly crowned. Nile takes her place as Yusuf's advisor, and goes to the front lines of a war she's never seen first hand. </p><p>It quickly becomes clear that Cat's younger brother, Merrick, has no intentions of letting him rule Mezzaluna. He sends a new army to Shams, and this one cannot be killed by ordinary means. Trapped on the wrong side of the boarder, Cat must find a way to cross through a deadly battlefield filled with soldiers who would do anything to stop his ascension, so that he can make it back to Mezzaluna and take a throne he never wanted. </p><p>The conclusion of the Cat Chronicles</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Booker | Sebastien le Livre's Wife, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cat Chronicles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>STOP </p><p>Before reading, keep in mind that this is a SEQUEL to Cat and Crown. Very little of this story will make sense unless you read Cat and Crown first. </p><p>This first chapter is a prologue. It summarizes all the key points you'll need to know to get your feet wet, but the real start of the story will be in the next chapter - posted simultaneously. </p><p>Thank you for coming back to this story, good luck and enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jerrah, the capital city of Shams is built in a spiral. The walls loop ever inwards, providing only one path to the city center and the palace that lay within. Yusuf rides at the head of a long party determined to return him to the city and the throne. To his right rides his dearest companion: Sebastien le Livre, his sworn brother and shield. To his left, rides Nicolo of Mezzaluna, the rightful heir of a country that has been at war with Shams since well before living memory. “The last time I was here,” he murmurs to them both, “I was a prince.” </p><p>“Aye,” Sebastien agrees quietly. “Now you’re a King.” Sebastien waits, giving Yusuf time to come to terms with the sight that lay before them all. Behind them, on horses and in carriages, is every member of Yusuf’s family by blood and by oath. Nile, his adopted sister. Amelie, his cousin and Sebastien’s fiancée. </p><p>“I swore I’d do my duty no matter what we faced when we went to war,” Yusuf reminds his friend. He turns a little, just enough to inspect the shape of Sebastien’s face and the way his lips twist as he responds. </p><p>“And you did your duty, your grace,” Sebastien states, bold and unassuming. “More than anyone else has.” He bows his head, conceding any further discussion, which leaves Yusuf to turn to Nicolo instead. </p><p>“Are you ready, Cat?” he asks. His fellow monarch doesn’t reply. He keeps his hands tight around the borrowed reins of his horse, and has only the general appearance of a man who would very much like to not be <em> on </em>a horse to begin with. It’s answer enough. Yusuf sighs. “Let’s go.” </p><p>They ride on. </p><p>Yusuf’s Queen Mother, Fatima, had argued for retaining the sigil of his father’s kingdom as they approached the capital. It’s familiar, well loved, and respected. Altering the banners they had, prior to his arrival, would not endear him well to his citizens, and it would give the guards too much confusion as they tried to determine if Yusuf really is who he says he is. Even so, when Yusuf glances down and sees the bright sun that has adorned all of his garb since the moment he’d been weaned, he doesn’t feel the pleasant tingles of nostalgia. Instead, he’s filled with a near unrecognizable level of hatred that has no business in a political mind. </p><p>His father had betrayed him, letting him remain tortured and used by Queen Astra of Mezzaluna so that Yusuf could be maneuvered and manipulated into the <em> right </em> place at the <em> right </em>time. No amount of nostalgia can overcome the pain of the past three years, and as Yusuf approaches Jerrah’s main gates, he starts thinking of all the ways he wants to amend each and every sigil wherever it sits. </p><p>Sebastien asks for his leave to introduce their party and Yusuf gives it. He leads his horse just a few steps closer to Cat’s in the interim. “You’re doing well, your grace,” he murmurs. Cat doesn’t so much as glance at him from the corner of his eye. His jaw is clenched so tight that Yusuf wouldn’t be surprised if he were breaking and healing his own teeth in his mouth. Every so often a tell tale pop clicks in the younger man’s jaw, and Yusuf grimaces at the noise. “Thank you for riding with me,” Yusuf says next. </p><p>This, at least, manages to gain a response: “Your mother was right about appearances.” It’s not the response Yusuf wanted to hear.  Yusuf and Cat have not spent much time with each other, all things considered. Their reunion had been rushed, their decisions even more so, and their alliance is as fragile as glass. Despite that, Yusuf’s made inferences about Cat for years. From the first moment he realized that the fractured, damaged, creature that had been sent to assassinate him on a battlefield was actually the Crown Prince — the <em> Stello — </em>of Mezzaluna, Yusuf has shaped and formed an image of him in his mind. Cat’s determined to do what’s right at any cost. </p><p>“Don’t do more than you can manage,” Yusuf cautions. It feels like a trite reminder, and Cat rewards him for his concern by frowning meaningfully. </p><p>“You do more than you can manage all the time.” The comment catches him off guard. Cat’s expression hadn’t changed at all. He looked directly at Yusuf as he said it, lips still twitched downwards and brows furrowed in consternation, and the steady delivery has Yusuf in stitches by the time the gates open and the trumpets are blaring. He hears his name being echoed through the city already. Cheers and shouts of surprise are starting to mount together, building into a cacophony that’s near deafening even before they start going. </p><p>“Are you ready?” Yusuf asks his companion. Yusuf’s cousin, Amelie, had produced a fine circlet that she and Fatima seemed to have taken from one of the Palace’s vault prior to leaving the city all those weeks ago. She’d offered it to Cat to wear when they entered the city. Symbols, as Fatima had pointed out, were necessary. <em> If he’s going to serve as your consort, then he will </em> be <em> your consort.  </em></p><p>No amount of insisting that Cat <em> wasn’t </em> his consort to begin with mattered. Shams needed a reason to install Cat onto the Mezzaluna throne. Mezzaluna needed restitution from Shams for Yusuf’s uncle murdering their Queen. Balance in politics could only be achieved by decisions that had nothing to do with emotions. <em> Marry him and be done with it, there are worse political unions to have, </em> Fatima decided for them. </p><p>And even a King must bow to his advisors. He’d half expected Cat to protest. To do something other than nod graciously at Yusuf’s mother and murmur that it was fine by him. He hadn’t. Perhaps that too should have been expected. Yusuf clenched his fingers tight around his reins. Cat’s followed the commands of enough Queens in his lifetime. That he listened to Fatima now and once more devoted his life to a dirty crown’s whims felt cruel.  </p><p>“I’m ready,” Cat says, cutting through Yusuf’s revere. He squeezes his reins a bit tighter and nods as Yusuf glances at him one last time. Then, together, they lead the entire royal party back into the city. Yusuf wears no crown. He refuses the thought of wearing it even though his mother had begged and pleaded with him. Only Cat has the circlet that Amelie brought, and Yusuf half thinks they’re better off for it. Between the two of them, it’s Cat who will need the most help solidifying his position as Mezzaluna’s true ruler and Shams’ Prince Consort. Not Yusuf. </p><p>By the time the first guard can accurately identify Yusuf, there’s no stopping the squall of excitement that threatens to overwhelm the city. The cheers that they’d heard before were merely the precursor to what comes next. Thousands of citizens rush from their homes, their shops, their general duties, to get a glance of Yusuf and confirm with their own eyes that he truly is alive. </p><p>Yusuf is no stranger to their excitement. He’s been on the receiving end of such delights since he was a small child, and yet there had never been such exuberance before. He can barely keep his horse moving forward as people crowd around him. They reach up to touch him. They’re sobbing, gasping great breaths that threaten to leave them asphyxiated as they reach up desperately to cling to him or his horse. </p><p>Sebastien is shouting, yelling at the people to back off. He’s pushing his own horse forward, shoving in between Yusuf and the most offensive citizens. He rides so close that their knees clip together. Yusuf’s gelding snorts unhappily, grumpily rearing its head up and down as Sebastien keeps them boxed in. </p><p>There’s a shout from behind, and Yusuf twists to watch his sister, Nile, ride up to bracket Cat’s other side. He hadn’t noticed - but the people of Jerrah had been shoving in at his horse too. Cat’s face drained of color, his hands gripped so tight against his horse’s reins that Yusuf half fears the younger man’s going to pass out then and there. Nile closes ranks around Cat and guides Cat’s horse closer to Yusuf’s so both future monarchs cannot be approached from the side. </p><p>“Thank you,” Yusuf calls when it seems Cat’s incapable of speech. </p><p>“We need to get him out of here,” she calls back. “This is way too much for him.” Considering Cat’s not denying or attempting to object in any way, Yusuf suspects she’s absolutely right. Twisting toward Sebastien he passes on the message in case it’d been lost in the din of cheers. </p><p>Sebastien stands up in his stirrups and draws the borrowed sword that looks nothing at all like the fine blade he’d wielded during their years of fighting in the war. He raises it high above his head and calls out in his most authoritative voice: “Honor guard, on me!” </p><p>The gate guards drop their positions and rush forward. They form solid lines between their procession and the crowd, encircling the group from head to flank. Finally, with a proper escort that’s managing the chaos, they can continue their ride. The whole time, Cat doesn’t speak, and Yusuf half fears that he’s going to be catatonic by the time they reach the palace. </p><p>“We’re almost there,” Yusuf murmurs. He reaches out to touch Cat’s shoulder, grimacing at how tightly wound it feels beneath his touch. “Look, just up ahead is Margot’s Bake House. They have the most lovely baklava in the city, you must try some. And there, that’s the Pit and Iron—one of the finest blacksmiths you’ll ever find.” He keeps the tour going through every spiral. On and on they travel, winding about the city as the streets become even more crowded than they were before. </p><p>The noise is so loud, Yusuf cannot help but wonder if Cat can even hear him. He sees Nile talking on the other side of Cat’s shoulder, but can’t make out a single word she’s saying either. When they reach the palace grounds, the gate guards are replaced with the proper Kings guard. Rank and file soldiers hurry out to secure the perimeter and the civilians are barred access as Yusuf and his party are led to the courtyard. </p><p>Space opens between their horses at long last, and as soon as Yusuf can he dismounts and goes to help Cat down from his saddle. The poor man is desperate to be off the beast and is nearly throwing himself from his seat by the time Yusuf comes to take hold of the mare’s reins. The mare whuffles against Yusuf’s chest, complaining about her rider even as Yusuf tries to examine Cat for additional signs of anxiety. </p><p>He can hear Nile now, listening as she’s listing off medical notes from her and Cat’s lessons in Crowen. Cat’s focus is solidly on Nile, nodding eventually to the hypotheses she pitches his way and muttering his own responses. Someone approaches to take the horses from Yusuf’s grasp. From the carriages, Fatima and Amelie slowly emerge. They approach in a sedate pace as Yusuf eyes the crowd that’s still gathered at the crest where the road curves into the Palace grounds. </p><p>“You should say something,” Fatima tells him. He knows he should. Amidst all the chaos and confusion of the ride through the spiral, he’d been analyzing what words should be his first words as their heir. Their King. He glances toward Cat one more time. The circlet sits beautifully on Cat’s brown hair. Shimmering in the heat of the sun. When Cat turns to look back at him, he almost seems regal. Ready. </p><p>“Can you manage coming with me?” Yusuf asks. He shouldn’t need help, but he wants it. Even if Cat doesn’t say anything. Even if he just stands there. But here, and now, only equals can approach the crowd clamouring for answers. Monarchies are lonely businesses, with few equals that <em> can </em>stand at the King’s side. </p><p>Sebastien, as faithful and loyal as he’s always been, cannot be the support that Yusuf needs here. Nor can Nile or Fatima stand in as his family. Their duty is to stand behind him and not appear to have too much control over the crown. </p><p>Cat nods. He closes his eyes, tilting his face up to the sun, breathes in deeply, then opens his eyes once more. He murmurs something softly to Nile, a goodbye perhaps, then steps in line with Yusuf. “I don’t know what to say,” Cat whispers as Yusuf leads them to the great arch that separates the Palace from the rest of the city. </p><p>“I don’t either,” Yusuf admits. “But I thank you for standing beside me.” </p><p>“This is <em>our</em> missions,” Cat tells him. “We’ll do it together.”</p><p>And so they approach the crowd. For a moment, the cacophony swells. It booms to a level that leaves Yusuf’s ears ringing. Sweat forms at the base of his neck. His face feels flushed with the heat of the day and moisture begins to trickle along his brow. It’s been years since he’s heard anything quite this explosive. The chaos of fighting on the battlefield seems almost foreign to his mind as he stands before the uproarious astonishment of his own citizens. Drawing his sword and striking down those that bothered him isn’t an option presently. </p><p>More’s the pity. </p><p>With as much grace he can muster, mimicking the actions he’d seen his father do a thousand times before, he raises his hand. The crowd falls silent. A breeze tickles the sweat at the back of Yusuf’s neck. His breath seizes in his lungs as he tries to rationalize that this is what they were supposed to do. They were <em> supposed </em>to hush when he lifted his hand. Yet the response is so quick and so all encompassing that the very feel of it leaves him dizzy and off kilter. </p><p>He can feel Cat shifting at his side. He can sense Cat’s eyes glancing at the side of his face. Yusuf can’t quite manage to form words yet, though. He stares at his people, his very happy people, and he tries to think of what a King should say when they address their nation after a three year long disappearance. After his own parents had presented a farce of a funeral. After his own father had orchestrated the pain and suffering of both Yusuf and his closest companion for—</p><p>“Thank you,” Cat says. He doesn’t step closer to the crowd, nor really move at all, but Yusuf imagines him as being the focal point that draws the masses’ attention. “Thank you for your support...and for welcoming the-the rightful heir home.” He fumbles, glances awkwardly at Yusuf, and Yusuf licks his lips. He nods at Cat, forces himself to move, and picks up where his <em> too brave </em>friend had interceded when Yusuf had failed to make his start. </p><p>“I am...so happy to be back,” Yusuf says. Scattered applause and cheers start up, but they seem cognizant that Yusuf wishes to say more before he returns to the Palace and the comforts within. “Like you, I’ve just been...made aware of the circumstances of the Kingsmeet. There will be difficult times ahead, but I pray you will stand with me as I do my utmost to lead you all to a better future.” That sounded good. That sounded officious. There’s more applause, and Yusuf’s mind hitches as he tries to find the next words for his impromptu speech. All he can think to do, though, he bow to his people. “Thank you for waiting for me.” </p><p>The silence that greets him is painful. His cheeks burn the longer he stays bent. He thinks, <em> maybe I shouldn’t have done this, </em> but it had been the one clear thought he’d had since he saw them all hurrying to greet him. The one clear image that burned so hot and fierce in his mind. These people, despite all the horrors that have transpired in recent days and months, still showed their love for him. Bowing, showing his respect for them, is <em> literally </em>the least he could do. </p><p>Yusuf peeks through the tops of his lashes, grimacing as he imagines the disgust on his people’s faces. Perhaps it was too little. Perhaps it was too much. And yet...it isn’t disgust that meets him. It’s tears. Tears, and row upon row of citizen slowly bending forward with their hands on their hearts, in total silence: bowing back. </p><p>He’s never seen this before. He hadn’t anticipated it either. The course of his imagining had only carried him to <em> himself </em>bowing, never their response. But now, all his people, as far as the eye can see, are bent at the waist. Their heads tilted and their mouths shut as silent, somber, reflection pools over them all. </p><p>Slowly, he rises. He sees more now. More heads, more backs bent, all the way to the first bend in the spiral that leads to the rest of the city. He imagines, hysterically, that the trend catches on even when the people can’t see him. That every head and body is bent at the waist, bowing to him in a deference he hardly thinks he’s earned yet. His head spins as he tries to understand the fealty. </p><p>It’s far too much to comprehend. </p><p>“Thank you,” he says. “I will serve you better than my forefathers.” Then he turns. He doesn’t quite run inside. He manages to keep his gait steady and balanced. But once he’s out of sight every muscle in his body starts shaking from the effort of staying severely tight throughout the walk. </p><p>He collapses into the first chair. It’s not his throne, but it hardly matters. His head sinks into his hands and he presses the heels of his palms to his eyelids. Phantom echo images form immediately. Behind his eyes, all he can see is the shape of his people, bent and loyal, giving him their faith when he isn’t sure he has enough faith in himself to see this mission through. </p><p>“Yusuf?” Cat asks. </p><p>“I’ve no idea what I’m doing,” Yusuf murmurs. He hears movement. Opening his eyes, he forces the echo away and focuses instead on Cat. The rightful king of Mezzaluna is kneeling in front of him. His hands slowly reach out and touch Yusuf’s knees. </p><p>“Neither do I...but at least your people will support us.” </p><p>Which is more than either of them can say for Cat’s people. But it doesn’t matter. Not really. It’s a start. </p><p>Yusuf will take what he can get. </p>
<hr/><p>The transitioning in the palace takes time. Safe inside Jerrah, Yusuf begins setting his plans into motion. He calls for a meeting with all of his country’s top lords and ladies. He names Nile as his First Advisor, then sends her to discuss the state of affairs with Amelie. He asks them both to arrange a time to bring him up to speed. Sebastien goes to get settled in with the rest of the guard, officially instated as the Head of his King’s Guard. Fatima corralls the staff to start reorganizing the King’s apartments so that her belongings are moved to the more appropriate Widow Suite. Through it all, Cat stands at Yusuf’s side: a steady, yet desperately silent, presence. </p><p>Yusuf isn’t even entirely sure if he wants Cat to speak or not. It seems the moment he stepped into the Palace there had been a never ending list of obligations and duties that he needed to see to <em> immediately </em>. Cat trails after him with dogged determination, appearing with food or drink whenever Yusuf neglects to go to the dining hall for the scheduled meals. Yusuf doesn’t even notice when Cat departs for these sundry duties. One moment he’s there, then the next he reappears with the appropriate offering that Yusuf required.</p><p>It’s late on the third day, when Cat presses the door to Yusuf’s chambers carrying a tray equipped with a steaming pot, two cups, and an assortment of biscuits. Yusuf glances up from the work he’d been conducting on designing the new sigil for their combined houses. It takes him far too long to realize that the sun had long since set and the room is now illuminated by carefully lit torches and candles. Someone had even started a fire in the hearth at some point. A quick glance at Cat’s knees confirms the presence of soot. “You’re not my servant,” he murmurs even as Cat settles the tray down on the edge of Yusuf’s desk. </p><p>“Tea?” Cat asks quietly, already moving to poor Yusuf a cup. </p><p>“Cat...you’re a King—”</p><p>“Not yet,” Cat refutes. “Right now, <em> you’re </em>the only King here. And you’re doing enough work for the both of us. I can manage a few chores to ensure that your work is undisturbed.” </p><p>“There are servants.”</p><p>“I like it,” Cat interjects. Yusuf’s lips press together. He watches as Cat ready his drink the exact way that he likes it. He hadn’t realized Cat had paid that much attention to his tea preferences. Still, when the cup is passed over, he takes it gratefully, relishing in the smell that wafts through the air. “It’s simple...doing things like this. I’m learning as I watch you, and I’m...taking advantage letting you do so much as it is. I’m sorry. But...I know I can help if I do this, and it feels...good to do that.” </p><p>“I understand,” Yusuf promises. He doesn’t necessarily approve entirely, but he’s glad that Cat’s starting to find his preferences — regardless of what they might be. “I just...don’t want you to think I expect it of you. <em> King </em>Nicolo.” </p><p>He watches as Cat’s cheeks burn red for a moment. Cat nods quietly, pouring himself a cup of tea as well. Running his fingers along the edge when he finishes. “I understand. Will you...show me what you’re working on?” He asks it so shyly, but Yusuf consoles himself with the thought that: at least Cat <em> asked. </em>At least he cared enough about the work, and understands his importance in it, that he spoke up. Let his desire be known. </p><p>“It’s not great,” Yusuf admits. He glances down at the half designs that he’d been playing with most recently, ashamed when he sees the most obvious one is a silly bit he’d done in a fit of frustration. He subtly attempts to hide the design with his arm as he reaches for his tea, but Cat notices the picture. He deftly snatches the page out from under Yusuf’s elbow and glances over the various loops and whirls that Yusuf had been playing with. “It was despair doing the talking,” Yusuf mumbles ungraciously. “I couldn’t think of anything so I just drew….that.” </p><p>After the death of Yusuf’s father and uncle, he ascended to the throne of Shams. But the sight of the crown, steeped in the blood of all who had lost their lives due to his family’s manipulations had sickened him into needing to draw up a different design for his crown. A crown that would represent his hopes for a new country: a unified country with Mezzaluna, putting to end the years of endless warfare between them. Cat had agreed with his sentiments, but offered no opinion on their combined sigil. </p><p>Which had resulted in Yusuf hastily trying to come up with something, running into a creative downward spiral, and drawing cat ears and whiskers on the sun of Shams just moments before Cat stepped in with the tea. Chancing a glance at his fellow monarch, Yusuf thinks he can almost see the slight quirking of Cat’s lips in a potential smile. “You like it?” he presses, hardly believing the words leaving his mouth. </p><p>“It’s a start,” Cat replies. He hands the page back and reaches for the pot on the tray. He pours tea with a kind of grace Yusuf didn’t know he possessed. One hand gently keeping the top of the pot secure, the other angling the handle down so the steaming liquid pours without the slightest splash. Lemon and ginger waft up through the air. Cat shifts to pour himself a cup and Yusuf brings his drink close to his lips to feel the warmth on his face. He inhales the steam slowly, relishing the heat as it swirls across his skin. “I don’t think...Mezzaluna will appreciate it as much as I,” Cat continues. He sets the pot down before fetching himself a chair to slide close to Yusuf’s desk. </p><p>“You appreciate it?” </p><p>“I like this bit,” Cat points at the whiskers, nose scrunching just a touch as he examines the design with far more dedication that it actually deserves. “I like how they form the rays of the sun. It’s...it’s nice.” His cheeks darken a bit as Yusuf stares at him, turning red in the candle light. </p><p>Yusuf shakes his head as he hands the page back to Cat. “Keep it,” he says. “And hope it’s not the best I can come up with.” Turning back to the other pages that litter his desk, Yusuf grudgingly pulls out his earlier, more thoughtful, designs. The sun and moon in twain, the waxing crescent with the sun resting in its open mouth. A moon cresting the horizon with a sun resting horizontally above it also in crescent form. A black sun with rays shining out - ostensibly an eclipse. Cat tucks the silly whiskered thing up into his shirt pocket and sips at his tea as Yusuf displays all the different motifs that have been stubbornly refusing to feel <em> perfect </em>since Yusuf first started this task. </p><p>“There are only so many ways to show a sun and moon in unison,” Yusuf says. He itches his forefinger against the ink of one of the sketches. The moon sits within the sun in this design, but the proportions seem wrong. Like the moon is merely an addition tossed into an already glorious visage. “If they’re not equal, it will be seen as a slight to your people. But the two crests don’t naturally mix together, their designs were never meant to be blended. The options for the alteration though…” </p><p>“I like it,” Cat says. He sips at his tea as if he hadn’t said the same thing about the doodle now tucked away in his shirt. “May...may I…” he wiggles his fingers, miming the quill still resting in the cradle of Yusuf’s right hand. Yusuf hums as he passes it over. He scoots his chair back to allow Cat more room. Cat shimmies a little closer, the legs of his chair squealing against the floorboards. The tip of his tongue is poked out between his lips as his nose scrunches up even more. Yusuf watches him for a time, eyes flickering to the burn that Yusuf’s adopted sister, Nile, had healed on Cat’s face. </p><p>There have only been a few moments in Yusuf’s life that he’d truly ever been grateful for the talent he shared with his sister: the ability to heal anyone, even from death itself, at a touch of the hand. Knowing that Nile had been able to heal Cat soothed a part of his soul that had raged since the moment he’d seen the brand and recognized it for what it was. </p><p>And yet, despite the brutality of Mezzaluna to her people, Yusuf still wants to merge his country with theirs. He still wants to stop this war, not by conquest, but by a mutual laying down of arms. “Do you think they’ll ever accept us?” Yusuf asks as Cat continues to stare down at the draft sigil. It takes his friend a long while to answer. <em> Friend. </em>It’s an odd thing to call himself Cat’s friend. There’s no other word that Yusuf thinks can adequately describe this familiarity with the younger man. </p><p>“I don’t know. You...maybe...eventually. Me...I don’t know if they’ll ever accept me...” Cat lays the paper flat. He brings the quill to the ink pot and delicately wets the tip. Yusuf resists the urge to lean closer and watch as Cat brings the quill back to the page, darkening lines that Yusuf had already drawn. Cat colors in the image more than Yusuf had before. The crescent moon is shaded entirely black. The sun, now just a fraction more narrow than it had been before, is left alone. The triangular rays that had emerged on the sun’s side, are mirrored on the moon’s now too, but all of the rays are half shaded in smaller full black triangles matching the moon. Between the rays and the center circle, he retains a slight gap, so there’s a kind of outline segmenting the spaces. When he turns the sigil to face Yusuf properly it looks, <em> finally, </em>balanced. </p><p>“Oh,” he says, taking the page and letting his fingers hover over the ink. “That looks better, much better.” Cat’s blushing again, harder than before. He fetches up his tea and sips at it for a long while, hiding his face behind his cup. “The moon and the shading here...silver?” Cat nods. “Gold for the rest...it’s beautiful, thank you. I didn’t think you wanted to help.” </p><p>“I...care.” There’s not much more that needs to be said than that. Yusuf nods, laying the sigil down and reaching for his own cup of tea.   </p><p>“Yes,” Yusuf agrees quietly. “I know you care…” Yusuf sips his tea. The blend is sweet and calming. A gentle mix of herbs that soothe Yusuf’s senses. Chamomile and honey, perhaps just a touch of cinnamon. He hums out his pleasure, closing his eyes to embrace the amoma and relish in the flavor. </p><p>“Amelie told me to ask you about the poems you wrote about me.” Yusuf chokes on his tea. He manages to swallow it, barely saving his rough drafts as he hurries to settle the cup down on the desk with care. Meeting Cat’s eyes, he’s horrified to discover a glinting light of amusement there. His fellow King had known full well what kind of reaction he’d get from his comment, and he’d timed it for when Yusuf was drinking <em> anyway. </em>He really does take far too much after his namesake. </p><p>“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Yusuf chastises, shaking his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, sulking a bit as Cat’s grin turns toothy and sharp. </p><p>“She told me about it when I was making tea,” Cat goes on, nudging Yusuf’s foot with his own. “She said that you used to write stories about the Moon Prince and the Sun Prince ending the war and making things right.”</p><p>“It was a hope I had for many years...I didn’t know you’d survived. I’m sorry if I—” </p><p>“—It’s nice to be believed in. Even if you thought I was dead. And I am...somewhat.” </p><p>Yusuf reaches out. He touches Cat’s face. His palm presses against Cat’s smoothe cheek, right where there was once a scar that Nile healed long ago. A scar that marked Cat as a Reaper. A scar that had been a torture as much as an insignia. “You’re not dead.” </p><p>“Thank you for believing in me, even if you didn’t know me. I believed in you too, you know.” Cat leans into Yusuf’s palm. “You brought me to Irania and you didn’t have to...you trusted me...saved my life. Thank you.” </p><p>“You were planning on murdering my entire family and my Uncle was going to let you do it,” Yusuf reminds Cat softly. He doesn’t withdraw, but for a moment, the pain in his heart is sharp enough that he almost wants to. Instead, he keeps still. He’ll hold on as long as Cat will let him. Cat lets him. </p><p>“You trusted me,” Cat whispers. “You...you and Nile did not deserve what the Queen wanted. What...my mother wanted. I didn’t do it because...you were kind. You were very kind. I wanted to thank you. I didn’t want to hurt you or Nile. I didn’t want to hurt your family. I liked your father...and...I’m still confused? Uncertain, maybe is the better word, over how I feel about your father and Najima. What they did. But I didn’t want to hurt you. Not when you were so...” He trails off. Looks away. Slowly, he brings his hand up to cup Yusuf’s palm to his face. His bare skin feels cool against Yusuf’s. “You were the first to touch me in so long...I never forgot you or what you and Sebastien did for me. And knowing you wrote stories...it feels like I have a chance to-to make it up to you. To be the person you wished I could be. To thank you.”</p><p>“You don’t need to be anything other than yourself. You don’t need to <em> be </em>anyone other than yourself.” </p><p>“I need to be King,” Cat refutes. “It’s not what I want, but it must happen. And this...working like this, serving like this, trying to be the person you hoped I would be: I do wish for that for me. The Prince in your stories...the ones Amelie told me? He seemed like someone to be proud of. I’d...I’d like you to be proud of me.” </p><p>“I am,” Yusuf swears. “And I hope to live up to your expectations of me as well. Since apparently they’re quite higher than I imagined.” </p><p>That toothy grin comes back. Wicked sharp and full of mischief. “You’re doing well so far, your grace.” Finally, Cat retreats from Yusuf’s touch. </p><p>And maybe Yusuf imagines it, maybe it’s only an accident, but as Cat steps away, his lips grace the side of Yusuf’s hand. A fleeting kiss that Cat doesn’t acknowledge as he turns his attention to the sigil they’d decided on. Cat starts talking about business, and Yusuf is left to cradle his hand as though it’d been blessed by the gods, wondering in silence all the while if Cat had meant it. He wonders, too, if he wishes Cat would do it again. And he wonders, late at night after all their work is concluded for the day, if maybe someday he’d have a chance to return the favor and if Cat would appreciate it if he did.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As First Advisor to the King, Nile doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be the one to wake Yusuf up in the mornings. As his sister, she decides it’s her prerogative anyway. She pushes open the door to his room, walking promptly through the solar and into her brother’s private bedchambers. She knocks once loudly in case he had decided to wake early and take advantage of the supple virgin lying beside him. When she enters, she’s only a little disappointed that her brother and best friend are not lying in a state of coitus. They’re still tangled together, Yusuf half lying over Cat, one arm wrapped around his body protectively, the other stretched out as a pillow Cat apparently prefers to the palace’s peafowl down pillows. They’re also both on the floor. It takes some of the amusement out of the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat’s eyes snap to her as she steps into the room. Yusuf’s arms tighten around Cat’s body, his brow tucking into the back of Cat’s neck. They’re both pressed close to the bedroom wall beneath one of the great windows leading out to the courtyard below. Nile opens the curtains of the window closest to her, letting light spill into the room. Cat twitches away from the light, sitting up enough to dislodge and awaken his betrothed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Nile greets. She tries to say it teasingly, but it’d been a month since she first found them on the floor together. She’d yet to see them use a bed or even a blanket. No amount of daydreaming prior seems to be enough to force reality to change. “Breakfast in the great room,” she goes on. She opens the curtains above them, and continues on throughout the room. Yusuf grumbles under his breath as he rises, rubbing at his eyes. “Then the meeting with Parliament…” she glances at their closet. Ceremonial dress had been tailored for them both since they arrived, but neither had the occasion to wear them. There’d been little point as the logistical operations had needed seeing to first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Small council meetings had sufficed in the interim and hadn’t required a standard of clothing. “Time to see you in that velvet tunic, eh Cat?” Nile asks, painting a smile on her face as she leers at him. He tilts his head ever so slightly and doesn’t deign to give her a response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, as she’s done every day since she took it upon herself to wake them up, she gives them a reminder: “Muss up the sheets before the servants see them still made.” She leaves them to dress, closing the door behind her, grimacing the whole while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d been expected for Yusuf and Cat to share a room. Rumors had set about on how precisely Yusuf managed to avoid Cat’s deadly touch in the process, but no one thought it proper to discuss such matters outside of their private homes just yet. Even so, those were rumors that Nile figured she’d know how to manage. Explaining why her brother, their King, saw fit to sleep on the floor like he was still trapped in a prison of stone was far harder to explain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waited patiently in her brother’s solar until the doors opened and Cat slipped out. The black velvet tunic she’d been teasing him about looked just as beautiful as she’d assumed it would. It clung to his limbs like a second skin, wrapping around his sword trained muscles. His silver circlet sat prettily on his hair. Around his neck rested an emerald on a silver chain that Nile recognized from the palace vaults. She hadn’t known Yusuf had taken it upon himself to offer such a gift to Cat. She doesn’t even known when he would have had the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look nice,” she tells her friend quietly. She glances furtively toward the closed doors to the hall where Sebastien’s King’s Guard stood sentry. They shouldn’t have heard or seen anything just yet, but she still looks to make sure before continuing. “How are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s familiar,” he replies instead of answering. It was the real question that she wanted to know the answer to in any case. “I slept on the floor more often than the bed when I came to Shams.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cat...it’s been a month.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he says slowly. “It’s only been a month.” Then, his lips harden into a tight line. “He isn’t going to be the same person that you knew long ago.” It feels almost like a slap, to be told </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>knows more about Yusuf that she does. She feels the instinctive reaction to snap back fill her mouth. Her tongue burns with the desire to spit out harsh words, cruel and vindictive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closes her eyes. Takes a breath. She lets out a slow stream of air through her nose, repeating the process until the fire dies to a simmer and she feels like she can speak without hurting him irreparably. “I’m worried.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sebastien was captured too,” she says carefully. “He’s not...sleeping on the floor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat tilts his head. He looks at her with a cool gaze that pierces through her. She resists the urge to squirm under his assessing eyes. “Yusuf is not Sebastien. I have not spoken to Sebastien about his time in Mezzaluna. I cannot speak of his response to it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I spoke to Amelie and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Amelie is not Yusuf. She’s not me.” Nile’s lips close with an unexpectedly loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Cat speaks. He crosses his arms over his chest, a sign of discomfort that makes Nile’s stomach clench unhappily as she notes it. “Perhaps Sebastien does not wish to alarm her. Perhaps his pains are different. I cannot speak to any of that. I know that Yusuf feels more comfortable there, I know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel more comfortable there. I know that it feels nice...for both of us...to not feel as if we must hide such things from each other. I understand it is not your way, nor even what is considered </span>
  <em>
    <span>proper</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I ask that you not expect us to stop a thing that does not cause harm to anything, but instead brings </span>
  <em>
    <span>us </span>
  </em>
  <span>some form of comfort.” It’s practically a speech, coming from Cat. Nile bites her lip to keep from rejecting it all from the start. He is right. It doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s merely a sign that they’ve been hurt, and she hates it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t have a chance to say anything more, though. The door opens behind Cat and Yusuf steps out in his bright white ceremonial garb. He’s wearing his golden circlet from his days as a Prince. “Still not wearing the crown?” Nile asks awkwardly, trying to avoid explaining what she and Cat had been discussing before his arrival. Yusuf shakes his head curtly and doesn’t seem even slightly pleased. She wonders how much he’d overheard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our new crowns will be ready by the coronation,” Yusuf informs her. “I’m not wearing my father’s again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He places his hand on the small of Cat’s back and motions with his other hand toward the door. None of them say another word as Nile awkwardly leads the way out and to the great room for their morning meal. The King’s Guard break position from Yusuf’s room as soon as they leave it. They follow a respectful three paces behind and say nothing at all. Silent guardians watching and observing all there is to see. Nile can’t help but shiver. She wonders if the Guard knows full well that their King has not returned unscathed from his time in Mezzaluna. She wonders what they think of their King marrying the Mezzaluna Stello despite that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breakfast is, naturally, a somber affair. Fatima and Yusuf are still not having anything that could be construed as a personal conversation. When they do talk, it’s perfectly civil in the most literal way possible. They discuss government and politics, but nothing concerning private affairs. Fatima toed the line only once, by asking how Yusuf and Cat were getting along, and Yusuf very firmly informed her that such concerns were not necessary for her to worry about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile’s mother acted as a buffer during these awkward family occasions. More than once, Nile suspected that Fatima had asked Nile’s mother for information regarding Yusuf. Yusuf had no qualms speaking to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nile’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>mother after all. For most shared meals, Nile needed to dedicate herself to not looking toward Fatima and the desperate way she clung to each word Yusuf spoke, as if grasping for the life of the son she’d abandoned years before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since taking his place as the head of the King’s Guard, Sebatien rarely joined them for meals in a personal capacity. He was almost always at his post, standing by Yusuf’s chair and waiting in faithful silence for their next move. He observed the change of guard as the night watch bowed out during breakfast for the day watch. Only occasionally did he speak, issuing orders or providing necessary updates as needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole experience is cold and impersonal, quiet and filled with tension. Nile tries to catch Cat’s eyes, but he rarely deigns to talk in public as it is. He picks at his food with careful motions, eating enough to justify having been served in the first place, but not going out of his way to add more helpings to his plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they break for their parliament meeting, Nile’s half hoping a disaster will occur that will force everyone into some form of compliance. She rejects the notion as soon as it crosses her mind. She’s not sure she’s entirely prepared for a disaster, whatever it might be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The throne room has been prepared for this meeting. Chairs have been assembled in all the correct locations. Elected officials to the left, gentry to the right. They are all seated according to rank and purpose. The front row of both columns allotted specifically for Yusuf’s interior council. Nile sits in the first seat closest to the aisle, her hands folded in her lap as Amelie sits directly across from her at the head of the gentry. She’s wearing a circlet as well, though sitting on her wrap it looks more like an elegant twist of jewels, cradling her brow and draping her in luxury. Yusuf leads Cat to their thrones, two golden chairs engraved in gilded images of Shams’ historic past. They stand before them, waiting for any late comers to arrive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only when the clock strikes promptly at ten does Yusuf sit, signaling for the rest of the room to follow suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We welcome this, our first Parliamentary session under our name,” Yusuf intones correctly. He asks for the scribe’s confirmation that the proceedings are being recorded, then begins the first of a long list of required announcements. Nile’s gaze goes unfocused as she settles into her seat. She stares straight ahead, but loses track of the litany of Yusuf’s diatribe. The first half of the session is procedural, establishing who’s who and if everyone accepts the current seats and positions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile hardly thinks she’ll need to pay attention until she hears someone call a request to speak. Yusuf had been mid transition, still talking when the second voice rang out. Nile didn’t catch the last few words of what her brother had been saying, but she rallied at the interloper. Sitting up straight, she turns to see who it is. It hadn’t come from too far back, so someone seemingly important. Names flit through her mind as she tries to place faces to dreary signatures that she’d been forced to memorize in Irania years before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lord Hassan makes things far easier when he stands and gives his name for her. She turns her head between him and Yusuf, gauging reactions as best she can. Yusuf seems more startled than anything else, as if he’d memorized the order he’d needed to go in and hadn’t prepared himself for any alternatives to that plan. He glances awkwardly toward Fatima, sitting in the gallery above, before forcing his gaze back to Hassan. “Speak, our lord,” Yusuf allows, sounding far more confident than he appears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hassan bows with his hand over his chest, low and submissive. When he straightens, he apologizes for his interruption. “I have much respect for you and your position, your majesty, and it is because of this respect that I am driven to speak.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...So...speak...” Yusuf says. Nile bites hard on her bottom lip to stop from laughing. Someone else in the hall wasn’t quite as successful. A snort turns into a harsh cough quick as can be, then is silenced with a sharp glare from Sebastien as he stands righteously at Yusuf’s side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, of course your grace,” Hassan speaks, “It is only...your choice for Prince Consort, your grace. On behalf of the people of Shams, I must state my concerns.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cat. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nile feels the blood drain from her face. Yusuf had been naming Cat officially as his betrothed before parliament. She’d stopped listening and missed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cat. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sitting up as straight as she can, Nile digs her fingers into the arms of her chair. She glances toward Amelie, but Amelie is sitting straight backed and looking firmly toward the throne. Up in the gallery, Fatima is frowning. Cat is rigid in his seat beside Yusuf. Yusuf...Yusuf is </span>
  <em>
    <span>furious. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches tight. His shoulders are rigid. Nile can </span>
  <em>
    <span>taste </span>
  </em>
  <span>the tension in the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one dares to so much as murmur as they look between Yusuf and Hassan. Somehow, the silence seems to embolden the man. He clears his throat and continues talking, speeding up every so often before catching himself and slowing back down. “We all know that...Nicolo of Mezzaluna is a Reaper, your grace. A Reaper, especially a </span>
  <em>
    <span>male </span>
  </em>
  <span>Reaper, cannot provide the crown with an heir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have named Amelie, daughter of King Najima, as our heir,” Yusuf speaks through clenched teeth. His fingers clench and unclench around the edges of his throne. His mannerisms too emotional for his position, and his anger lashing out in violence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Hassan goes on. “We have concern for </span>
  <em>
    <span>your Grace’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>good health too,” he says. Nile’d be impressed with his ineptitude, if she didn’t see something she knew Yusuf saw too. The members of parliament weren’t dismissing Hassan’s notions. They were letting him speak. Some, if not </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span>, agreed with his sentiments. “Will you be taking a mistress?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not unheard of, though Yusuf’s father had never partaken. Najima hadn’t either, remaining a veritable bachelor despite decades of widowerhood. Nile’d never even considered the possibility as something Yusuf would consider. She glances at Fatima. Apparently it’s something </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>had. Fatima is neither surprised nor alarmed at the direction the conversation had turned. If anything, she seems expectant. Anger rises in Nile’s chest as she looks at the former Queen. Nile had supported the marriage alliance between Cat and Yusuf purely because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Cat cared for Yusuf and vice versa. Perhaps they were not in love, perhaps not yet, but even one month past she’d known deep in her soul that both had been tied in knots by fate long ago. Brother or not, </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>or not, if she’d thought one would abandon the other she’d have rejected the union outright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tearing her eyes from Fatima, Nile looks to Yusuf, desperate for some kind of assurance that he hadn’t presumed as his mother had. That he hadn’t made a choice that would damn Cat to a sham marriage before it even started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I may?” Cat speaks. Yusuf spins so fast in his chair that Nile half thinks he’ll fall out of it. Even so, Cat stands without being granted permission from his liege. He bows, one hand over his chest, a perfect copy of Shams protocol, at Hassan. “Your concerns are valid my lord. I intend to marry your beloved King to unify our nations. It is not in my heart to cause him or your country harm. Should your King wish for such a union, I will not stand in the way.” He bows again, this time to Yusuf directly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf lurches from his chair and straightens Cat. He’s too rough, nearly toppling the smaller man over as he shakes him upright. Murmurs have started to burst out in the hall. Members of parliament are leaning over to one another, trying to make sense of both Cat’s actions and Yusuf’s response. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Enough,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yusuf calls out. His voice echoes through the entirety of the throne room. It bounces off the high ceilings and shimmies through the gallery. His hands are still clenched tight around Cat’s shoulders. He turns on his heel, glaring at Hassan with an unbridled kind of hatred that looks so foreign on Yusuf’s kind face. Nile’s stomach squeezes painfully. She licks her lips and tries to breathe deep. She tries to keep calm and focused, but ice has started to freeze her veins. Her skin pricks painfully at the raw </span>
  <em>
    <span>power </span>
  </em>
  <span>that seems to crash through her body. Worse yet, she cannot tell if it’s real or imagined. If Yusuf is emitting something from deep within, or if his mere presence is enough to turn her body to stone, desperate to do anything to appease his wrath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stello Nicolo treats you with kindness undeserved, but I state this now and with final impunity: I will not disgrace the arrangement that I have made, either with Nicolo personally or with Mezzaluna’s people, by taking a mistress. Crown Princess Amelie, her fiancé Sebastien le Livre, and their line will succeed this throne. I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>sire a child, nor abandon my husband, either to appease this parliament or any </span>
  <em>
    <span>individuals</span>
  </em>
  <span> who seek an alternative arrangement to this throne. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>final word on this matter. Your concerns are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>our own.” Yusuf left hand slides down to hold Cat’s firmly. His right strikes down through the air as if setting his word as an invisible law, written on the parchment of reality itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He guides Cat back to their thrones, sitting firmly and promptly, their hands still clasped together. Then, with ice coating his voice, he continues his introductions in the order he’d intended. He leaves no one off, he accepts no more interruptions, and all the while he glares at Hassan. Through the many hours that follow, the pressure never lets up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole session, Nile fights to breathe. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Nile doesn’t get a chance to see Cat again until far later in the evening. Yusuf keeps him swept away in parliamentary discussions and coronation preparations that do absolutely nothing to stop the remainder of the palace from tittering in gossip filled waves about Yusuf’s proclamation. Where before, no one seemed ready to discuss the exact happenings in Yusuf’s relationship, now it seemed as though everyone was openly airing their grievances. Women burst into tears at the idea they had lost the chance to be Yusuf’s mistress. Others bemoaned the fact his line would end with him. Still </span>
  <em>
    <span>others </span>
  </em>
  <span>were busy trying to confirm Amelie’s lineage and reputation in case there were any chances that her own marriage could be disrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While leaving court, Nile spied no less than four eligible bachelors approaching Amelie as if they’d even slightly have a chance with her. Having been Fatima’s handmaiden for most of her life, Amelie displayed the most courteous performance of polite extractions that Nile had ever seen. She’d caught the arm of a passing noble woman, immediately began to discuss some pressing matter, and walked firmly from the room without looking back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile isn’t nearly so lucky. For hours she fends off lords and ladies she’d never bothered to interact with in the past. When she finally reaches the gardens where she and Cat used to play when they were younger, the sun had set hours previously and her stomach gurgled from lack of food. She’d managed to steal some sweets from the kitchens, and when she sees Cat already practicing his sword work on his own, she settles on the top step and watches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s stabbing and blocking with enough force that she half suspects he’s mutilated whichever invisible monster he’s fighting. He moves gracefully, one foot sliding perfectly into position as the other lunges and braces as needed. His sword spins in wide arcs, always passing through the blocks and guards that make up his craft. Attack to guard and back again. Even in his frustration, he shows no sign of fault or failure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t have agreed to let Yusuf have a mistress,” Nile tells him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even falter as he slams his blade down, cleaving an invisible demon from shoulder to hip. “I do not own him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s going to be your husband.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, and I do not own my husband.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s your </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s my </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cat swivels. He’s breathing hard. Sweat stains his pits and down the front of his shirt and back. “He saved my life. He gave me a home. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> who and what I am, and he still wishes to lay by my side. And if it would make him happy </span>
  <em>
    <span>I would let him have any man or woman he wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile glowers at him. “Did it ever occur to you he wants you too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shoves some more sweet bread in her mouth, chewing spitefully even as Cat spits out a “Yes,” with as much vitriol as she deserves. “Did it ever occur to you that Mezzaluna only accepts women as their heirs? That this fight with my brother may end with a cousin I never heard of taking the crown? That I will be nothing except the Prince Consort of Shams, married to a man who tried to end a war and failed. And then, then! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Years </span>
  </em>
  <span>from now he will look back and realize that perhaps everything he gave up when he is traumatized and in pain was not worth it in the end.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not my brother,” Nile says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know your brother anymore,” Cat spits out. She flinches. Flinches, and looks away. She’d brought sweets for him too, but she no longer feels inclined to give him any. “Mezzaluna won’t accept a Reaper, let alone a </span>
  <em>
    <span>man,</span>
  </em>
  <span> as their King. Shams’ army has </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>been able to drive deep enough into Mezzaluna territory to win a military campaign over her. We can try to do the right thing, but that doesn’t mean we’ll succeed. And if we fail, your brother deserves the chance to choose what life he wants then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already have more than I ever would have before.” The tip of his sword drops to the earth. He looks up at the sky, and for a moment, she thinks he might start to cry. Instead, he closes his eyes, breathes deep, and returns his sword to its sheath. He walks past her. “I have work to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you choke on it,” she mutters. He doesn’t reply, and she isn’t sure if he heard her or not. She doesn’t particularly care either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can take the hint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile walks herself back to her own room. Guards and various residents of the Palace bow their heads when they see her, but no one speaks. Everyone has a job to do here. Everyone has a mission. And even though the past few weeks have been free of additional pain, it hasn’t stopped the world from spinning. Cat and Nile are still where they always are: lost in the quagmire of politics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting down at her desk, Nile leans her practice sword against the wall and stares down at the stacks of parchment covering endless plans that she’d needed to look at over the course of the day. Details of the coronation, letters for important persons, notes from meetings. She plucks a clean page free and settles it before her. Cat’s right. As much as she hates to admit it, nothing will be firmly resolved until Mezzaluna’s resolved. And the people of Mezzaluna need a reason to push back against Merrick. They need a reason to turn to Cat. To Stello Nicolo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only way they’re going to do that, is if they know about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile may not be the most effusive writer, she doesn’t have Yusuf’s poet’s touch, but this doesn’t need poetry. It needs honesty. She lowers pen to page, and she starts to write. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On this, the thirteenth day of Harvestfall, it is to be known all across the land that Queen Astra’s first born son, Nicolo, is the rightful King of Mezzaluna...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She writes until dawn. Draft upon draft. She scratches out excess words, inserts proper adjectives, and draws up a narrative that King Ibrahim would have been proud of. Then, she goes to the printing press and places an order. Hundreds of thousands of copies are to be printed and disseminated as far as the courier can carry them and more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s time for Mezzaluna to meet their real King, and a war doesn’t need to be won with blood. Sometimes, it just requires a scratch of ink, and the willingness to try. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The night after the King of Shams murdered the Queen of Mezzaluna, news of the killing spread between both nations on finely printed paper WIthin three days, even the farthest reaching corner of both nations had heard the news of the failed Kingsmeet. It was the only topic of conversation worth having, and citizens stayed arguing their points of view for hours back and forth as they tried to come to terms with what exactly had transpired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a single person doubted that the King, Najima, had acted in poor faith by breaking the fundamental rule of the neutral zone. But even the lay people of Mezzaluna wondered if he might have been over wrought by passion. “How would you feel,” Celeste asks, motioning to the bartender for another round, “If you found out your nephew was being tortured for what - three years? Something like that? When you thought he’d been dead all this time?” She’s not a regular at the Lunar Pub. She’d arrived not long before the news spread, a traveler on her way to the capital to find work at an apothecary’s shop. Her horse threw a shoe on the road, though, and with the blacksmith out of work from a bad back, she’s found herself staying in the pub’s storeroom as she waits for someone to tend to her mare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s an endearing woman, kind and soft spoken. It’s her manners that had encouraged Madam Dileonardo to board Celeste. She’d said her pleases and thank yous and just the right times, never seeming too desperate or accepting. She offered just the right amount of refusal before accepting Dileonardo’s offer. More than that, she had a comely face but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>hadn’t so much as bat an eye at the many single men or women in the pub. She’d drunk her water and ate her bread with nary a glance at the liquors on Dileonardo’s shelf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Madam Dileonardo considered herself an expert in human behavior after so long behind a bar, and so she thought highly of Celeste when she first came. She thinks highly of Celeste now that the news has come through too, even if she’s heard every possible side of the argument since the day it first aired. Their beloved Queen had illegally held the Crown Prince of Shams hostage for nearly three years, and hadn’t so much as offered him back to Shams as a part of the peace treaty they were attempting to negotiate. Dileonardo isn’t an expert in politics, but she nods along with Celeste’s arguments anyhow, frowning as she rubs down the top of her bar with rough strokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s disgraceful, is what it is,” Gio announces. Gio </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a regular to the pub. With his great rolling stomach and his tunic that doesn’t quite cover his girth, he’s a near permanent fixture at the end of her bar. The stool he sits in has been the same stool that he’s sat in since he bought his first drink. It’s all but conformed to his weight over the years, becoming strangely uncomfortable if anyone else tries to sit in it. He’d come from money and married into more money, and he’s been putting a valiant effort in to drinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>away </span>
  </em>
  <span>all that money since the moment he was allowed to purchase his first pint. He swings his arms about now, sending the froth of his beer cascading over the side of his mug </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful Gio,” Dileonardo cautions, mopping up his mess with a fresh rag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s right though,” Celeste says. She plops down next to Gio, clapping him on the back with a firm hand. “I mean, the King shouldn’t have killed her - may her memory never die - but holding the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crown Prince </span>
  </em>
  <span>captive? For all those years? How many of us have family fighting that war right now? We could have had peace talks ages ago. But instead we’re just going to be in for more war.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dileonardo grimaces at the reminder. She glances over her shoulder at the white ribbons she hangs for her husband and first born son. Both died in the war, and she had two more that are still at the front lines — only a few more years before their draft ends and they can return to the city. When the talk of the truce had started to spread, she’d spent the morning making her sons’ beds and freshening up their rooms. She’d been thrilled at the idea of them coming home, even only for a little while before they found their bearings after all those years of fighting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long do you think the fighting will last this time?” she asks quietly. Celeste must see her ribbons because her face seems to fill with the most terrible kind of sorrow there is. The shared agony of understanding. She folds her hands in her lap and looks down at her twisting fingers. Dileonardo wonders if she’s lost loved ones to the war too. Everyone has, so it isn’t surprising. Still, Dileonardo wonders </span>
  <em>
    <span>how many </span>
  </em>
  <span>Celeste has lost, to be traveling to the capital all by herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fighting won’t start up immediately yet,” Celeste says. “They’ll have to crown the Kings first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but who’s getting crowned?” Gio asks. He leans forward on the bar. The remainder of his froth spills over the side of his mug as he wags his finger at them both. “We don’t know where this Crown Prince Yusuf is right? Is he still in Città Lunare? Or is he back in Shams? And then - then there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Merrick. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gods damn us all for </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>fool child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dileonardo glances over Gio’s shoulder. The rest of the pub seems to be discussing their own opinions with such interest that no one’s heard her top patron’s lack of patriotism. She still scolds him and rubs down the bar with a bit more intensity. “You can’t be saying things like that,” she tells him. “You don’t know who’s going to hear you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brother used to live in the palace,” Celeste whispers. She scoots her stool a bit closer to the bar and to Gio. Gio scoots his in too. Dileonardo ducks in tight and they’re all lowering their voices now, trying to keep their thoughts to themselves in the loud rattle of confusion that is now the pub’s norm. “Spent a lot of time in the Underground, if you catch my meaning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dileonardo does. It’s where all the Reapers of the city were kept, safely out of the way from the rest of the public. It’s not encouraged to talk about the Reapers, or how they could kill with a single touch. They’re evil and wicked and wrong. But for years, Dileonardo’s kept all sorts of books and stories written about Reapers and the brave heroes who rose up to defeat their filth, driving them back into the darkness where they belong. Dileonardo cannot help herself from imagining Celeste’s brother just like the men in her tales: tall and dark haired with ivory skin and a passion for justice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So he knows things,” Celeste continues. She glances over her shoulder. Her tongue peeks out from between her lips and she leans a little closer. All their heads are almost touching from how close they all are. But none of them make contact. Dileonardo and Gio hold their breaths, waiting to hear what Celeste seems so desperate to say. “He was there, when the </span>
  <em>
    <span>first </span>
  </em>
  <span>Stello died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicolo?” Dileonardo asks. It’s been years since she thought of the poor boy. The little heir to Mezzaluna who never lived passed five years old, drowning in the river under the careless eye of his retainers. She’d seen him once, just a few months before he died actually. There’d been a parade and Queen Astra had ridden in a carriage with the little boy. They’d waved to all the people, and Dileonardo remembers seeing the boy’s flushed cheeks and baby-down brown hair whisping beautifully about his face. He’d smiled and giggled and cheerfully said his hellos to everyone he could. At one point, the Queen even let him down from the carriage so he could carry the Mezzaluna flag through the streets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dileonardo had always been impressed by the sheer determination on the tiny boy’s face as he’d held up the flag of his country. It had been such a marvelous juxtaposition: a boy with a nation in his hands. When she’d gone home that night she’d sent up a few prayers for the young Stello, and she’d been truly sad when she heard the boy died. Sadder still, when over the years it became obvious that Nicolo’s younger brother never quite lived up to that image his brother had made. Worse yet, he never appeared to adopt any of the strengths of his mother. He seemed, instead, twisted and wrong. Openly mocking and cruel to citizens and dignitaries alike, never once endearing himself to his people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Celeste chances one final look over her shoulder. Then she says: “Stello Nicolo is </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dileonardo jerks back from the bar. One hand covers her mouth even as Gio starts blaspheming through curses. Celeste shushes him quickly, panicked eyes looking all around her. He manages to regain himself, but does so with his drink in his hand. He downs the whole mug in a few strong slurps, slamming it down and shoving it to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?!” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a Reaper. When he died in the river - he became a Reaper.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Reaper!” Dileonardo doesn’t want to think it. She can’t fathom the idea of that sweet, smiling, little Prince as the living embodiment of Death. It’s wrong. It’s foul. She shakes her head and scrubs furtively at her bar top. “You mustn’t say such things,” she tells Celeste firmly. “It’s cruel to the dead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear on my brother’s life, Stello Nicolo is a Reaper. And there’s no law saying he can’t ascend the throne.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Reaper!” Gio repeats. He rubs a hand over his curling grey beard and mustache. He pats his large stomach, jiggling the weight left and right as he adjusts himself in his seat. “It’s a sad day when I’d say even Death itself would be better than that...that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>on the throne.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh...oh surely...surely Merrick can’t be worse than a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reaper!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dileonardo gasps. Reapers are terrible things. They steal life and they end happiness. They do nothing but destroy endlessly, with no hope of salvation or love. They are unfeeling monsters. Cruel caricatures of humans that no longer have the capacity to care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gio grimaces as he shakes his head. “I was at a party over at Lord Tyron’s estate last quarter. Merrick was there. I tell you, that child had a servant boy </span>
  <em>
    <span>flayed </span>
  </em>
  <span>for dropping a goblet of wine. Wine didn’t even stain anything, didn’t touch Merrick at all. But he demanded satisfaction for the embarrassment. He had the boy’s skin torn right from his body until the boy’s heart gave out. It was the worst thing I’d ever seen in my life. I’ll never forget such a thing. No, Reapers kill with a touch — I say that’s mercy compared to what Merrick does. And Merrick did that to his own people. Can you imagine what he’d do to his enemies?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But...</span>
  <em>
    <span>a Reaper? </span>
  </em>
  <span>On Queen Astra’s throne?” Dileonardo isn’t sure she can countenance such a thing, not even if the angel faced babe she’d seen fifteen years ago truly is still alive. She bites her lip and glances about the bar, but no one else seems to have overheard their conversation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thinks. The less people know about this, the less trouble it will cause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If Queen Astra wanted to ensure it didn’t happen, she could have made a law saying so,” Celeste points out. “She knew her son was alive, after all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone asks for a refill and Dileonardo hurries to do her duty. It’s a pathetic excuse to escape Celeste’s suddenly piercing gaze and Gio’s thoughtful expression. Still, she should have known better than to think that Gio had the forethought to not keep such an important detail to himself. By the time she returns to his side of the bar, Celeste has slipped away for the evening and Gio’s interrogating his nearest neighbor with the idea of Stello Nicolo still being eligible to the throne. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Celeste leaves the next day. Dileonardo stays right where she is, and watches, stunned, as soon everyone starts talking about an idea they’d never before even considered acceptable. Is it possible, that a monster they’d heard about all their lives could somehow be superior to the living menace that Prince Merrick represented? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dileonardo coughs into her arm. Rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. Her allergies have come early it seems. No matter. It’s time to set out for the next day. And her parishioners wait for no one when it comes to their ale. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Cat doesn’t sleep well in the days leading up to the coronation. Yusuf knows, because Yusuf isn’t sleeping well either. He spends every morning and afternoon fending off progressively more determined members of his court, and in the evening he’s filled with too much adrenaline to simply relax. He starts pacing frantically, talking his ideas for the war effort out loud while Cat flips through the pages of history books trying to make sense of Mezzaluna’s complex genealogies and laws of succession with nothing save his mind as a guiding light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the moon is high in the sky, Yusuf relents in his pacing only so he can glare hatefully at a stack of missives leftover from Najima’s service as King. His own personal matters and interest did not stop the need for a king to continue to do his duty effectively. He answers letters and reads reports on his kingdom, finding rest only when it takes him by surprise. More than a few times he wakes to the feeling of his head falling forward, slipping off the curled knuckles of his fist as he tried to prop up his tired skull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat rarely, if ever, notices. In those grim moments of sleep deprivation meeting fate, Yusuf blinks blearily toward his betrothed and finds him precisely where Yusuf last saw him. He only stops when Yusuf murmurs that perhaps they should try to sleep. Then, he stands without a word and silently approaches, waiting for Yusuf to decide where they should go for the evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Contrary to Nile’s belief, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>tried sleeping on the bed. They’d laid there for hours before Yusuf cursed violently and threw himself from the mattress. He doesn’t have the fortitude to put up with trying anymore at the moment. He slides down the wall to sit on the cold floor, legs propped up as the sensation rattles through his bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>found anything useful?” Yusuf asks, not really caring what the answer is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a tradition for challenging the throne,” Cat murmurs. “A process where the Moon herself chooses the heir and punishes the one who tried to claim the crown undeservedly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That sounded vaguely promising. “And?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone who’s ever challenged the sitting leader has died.” That sounded far less promising. Yusuf presses his lips together tightly. He flexes his fingers at his sides, trying to come up with something that would be productive to say. Finding nothing, he grits his teeth and glares down at the work he’d abandoned. He made Cat a promise. They’d join these countries. They’d stop this violence. They’d make things </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They’d make their world a better place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He’s going to be crowned in the morning, and when he is, there will be no room for error. No doubts or confusion permitted. All his life he’s prepared for this moment. And as he looks at the mess of research he’s amassed, the only thing he can say to the man he’s dragged into this arrangement is: “I’m not ready.” It’s a terrible transition from what Cat had said previously, but for the first time since that awful court session, Cat abandons his research center for something other than pretending to sleep. He removes the gloves he always wears. He presses his bare fingers to the back of Yusuf’s hand, tracing his veins. For several minutes, Yusuf watches him. The silence presses down on his shoulders. It strangles and rests heavy on his weary frame. Even so, his skin tingles at the feeling of Cat’s skin against his. He feels no immediate compulsion to die, no pain, no misery. But his flesh </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>react to the Reaper before him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s like a bell, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yusuf thinks, watching as Cat traces his fingers down and around Yusuf’s palm. Deep within him, his soul feels like it’s vibrating, ringing out in a harmonic that resonates with the sensation being provided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes just as Cat finally slips his hand snugly around Yusuf’s. Cat pulls their joined hands up. His lips grace Yusuf’s knuckles so lightly it could almost be mistaken for a breath of cool air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pressure sluices off Yusuf’s body. The weight lifts from his shoulders. He breathes in deeply. “Andromache told me that it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>human </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be afraid,” Cat murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf hasn’t seen his former guard in a long while. When they arrived at the capital she’d vanished into the city streets. She and Quynh avoided the palace and all its trappings, leaving them to guide themselves forward without assistance from their elders. Well, Yusuf huffs. He could have asked his mother or help, but it seemed counterproductive all things considered. “Have you seen her? Andromache?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She showed me your room,” Cat says. Yusuf frowns. It takes him a moment to consider that it isn’t their current suite that Cat’s referring to, but rather the Heir’s room. The place Yusuf had called his own throughout his childhood. Andromache hadn’t needed to personally show Cat that. Anyone could have shown him. The thought does trigger another topic he hadn’t considered, though. Amelie had kept to her own apartments and not moved to the Heir’s quarters. She should have. It would legitimize her claim and appease some members of the council. “You have drawings of me under your bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf flinches badly at the comment. It cut through his thoughts as vicious as any spear. He pulls away, only to have Cat’s fingers tighten about his palm. He’s only been to his old quarters once since his return to Jerrah. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the room has been sanitized of personal effects. But, not all of it. There were children’s swords turned into decorative plaques hanging on the wall. A bookcase filled with educational texts. And then the bed. The elevated bed with long fabric skirting and blankets that could hide a lonely prince from the outside world in an instant. “You went under the bed?” Yusuf asks, voice straining from his throat. “Did she—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—She didn’t know what was under,” Cat refutes. “She said she used to find you there. Long ago. When the world felt too big.” She’d been the only one who </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>found him when he hid. All the rest of his staff and family discounted just how easy it was to slip beneath the bedframe. How comfortable he could make himself in the cool dark of the world that was small and narrow and his alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf had drawn those he cared about beneath that bed to join him when he needed their company but they were far away. His parents, Sebastien, Nile, Amelie...they all had a place there. He’d used wax to add color to their faces and surroundings. Surroundings that eventually included the Shams’ sun with Mezzaluna’s moon, not too close, watching over them all. “When Amelie showed me your poems,” Cat murmurs, “I went to look again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there, Yusuf knows, he would have seen the dreams that Yusuf had held for years. Dreams of a child, hoping for a future he didn’t know he could achieve. The pressure returns to his chest. His throat feels tight. He’s dizzy, suddenly, off kilter. He wants to sit. Cat leads him toward their new bed. His parents’ old bed. The bed he’d likely been conceived on all those years ago. He sits where he’d first been formed, and he breathes as if it’s the last he’ll ever breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not ready either,” Cat says. Yusuf almost doesn’t hear him amongst the roaring of blood as it swells around his brain. He’s trembling now. Trembling so hard that he feels Cat’s hand struggling to restrain the twitches and jerks. “I cannot be the person you want me to be...the one you hoped I’d be all those years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hadn’t met you then,” Yusuf murmurs. “I don’t expect—I told them not to—you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a dream I had, you’re a person.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Cat replies. He strokes his thumb over Yusuf’s knuckles, rubbing out the kiss that might not have been. “You dreamed that the Moon Prince would come and help you heal the world. I am here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t—that’s not—” Yusuf pulls his hand away. He has to yank it hard to dislodge it from Cat’s grasp. Cat had held on, as if he hadn’t wanted to be parted, but relented at Yusuf’s insistence simply because he’d understood. “I don’t want you to be anything other than you are. You’re not a fantasy I made. I told Nile—I...I didn’t want to make you think—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat sits before him, hands now settled between his legs. They hang there, limp and discarded, one gloved and one not. “I am who I am,” Cat says. “But I am expected to be more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cat, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?” He tilts his head to one side. He waits, and Yusuf feels suddenly like he’d been led into a trap and a snare that he’d had no chance to avoid. He feels the rope wrap around his foot and snatch him violently into a hold he’ll never escape from. He wraps his arms around his chest, glaring mutinously over Cat’s head. It’s the kind of maneuvering that Andromache had used on him when he was a child. Yusuf hates it. Still, Cat goes on. “You hoped I could be the one to help you build a better world. To make things right. You didn’t know me, or anything about me, but you knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>I was. Stello Nicolo of Mezzaluna. That was enough wasn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Names and titles are never enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Cat says. He takes those discarded hands and places them on Yusuf’s knees. “They’re not. They’re not you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He agrees with a smile, slight and quick. “Or me.” His thumbs start stroking again. Through the fabric of Yusuf’s trousers, he feels the same harmonic perfection radiating once more. A settling kind of rightness that he’s always felt whenever he came in contact with the younger man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His coronation is tomorrow, Yusuf asks: “Should we run away?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’d be very good at it, I think,” Cat agrees amicably. They wouldn’t need food or water to survive. They could go anywhere. Everywhere. They could travel the world, abandoning Mezzaluna and Shams to the chaos the countries had wrought for themselves. They were both skilled in combat. Yusuf’s seen Cat practicing his long sword so often that Cat doesn’t even need to touch someone to kill them. He would never need to use his powers again. They could just be Yusuf and Cat. Far away from responsibility and expectations. Of dreamed futures that felt more like shackles when the bed skirting had been drawn up and light shined on the prophecies he’d made. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf doesn’t know if he wanted Cat to argue with him or not. If he wanted Cat to recoil and insist that they needed to stay on this path, that this was the future that they were destined for. He wishes, suddenly, that they didn’t have to make any choice right now. But that’s the trouble with choices. Not making a choice </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a choice. Time moves on whether Yusuf is ready for it or not. It’s impossible to refuse the drum beat of the future. It beats steadily onwards, and the only choice that can’t be made, is choosing to not be affected by time at all. It still continues. With or without cooperation. There’s no stopping its beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His coronation is tomorrow. “Do you remember when I first found you?” Yusuf asks. Cat hums his agreement, a quiet affirmation that flows in time with the cadence of the drums. “We spent a month together, you and I. Traveling to Irania with Sebastien...what did you think of me when we parted?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you were the kindest man I’d ever met, and I was sorry to see you go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf’s lips quirked. “You were meant to kill my family,” he reminds lightly. He lifts his hand to cradle Cat’s face. It fits so nicely in the cup of his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Andromache told me it’s rare to like your in-laws,” Cat says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf’s fingers spasm. His breath catches badly in his nose on an exhale. The snort coughs out of him in surprise as the drums keep marching onwards. On and on and on. Yusuf laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs. Tears press at his eyes. He doubles over, chortling so uproariously that his taciturn fiancé has the audacity to smile a smug little smile that Yusuf’s never seen before. “I am not your prince of dreams,” Cat says, finger still stroking those perfect strokes as Yusuf laughs until he can’t breathe. “You are not the man your people want you to be. But we are here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re here.” Yusuf agrees, wiping tears from his eyes. Time marches on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so do they. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Yusuf is crowned in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his side, is his husband Nicolo, Prince Consort of Shams. They take their vows to each other and to their country together. Both are dressed in icy white, sky blues, and shocking silver. The only sign of Nicolo’s status is the black gloves he refuses to part with. They don’t kiss. They don’t share their love for all the world to see. They stand at each other’s sides and they make their oaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromache and Quynh preside over the ceremony, appearing in their positions as religious authorities rather than friends or companions. Quynh places Yusuf’s new crown on his head, the only crown he will ever accept again. Andromache does the same for Cat. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>crown is almost entirely made of the most sparkling silver Yusuf has ever seen. It is matched only by an equally lustrous gold that makes up the rays of the sun shining amongst the moon. Yusuf’s is the exact opposite. Glittering gold except for the silver matching the sun ray for ray. When Yusuf had first seen them, they’d taken his breath away. Set side by side, they’d been a glorious pair. Perfect and </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, here they are. Confirmed. Official. Yusuf’s hand slips around Cat’s. His husband. His partner. Yusuf doesn’t shy away. Neither of them do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, they don’t have the time to waste. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sebastien is the head of Yusuf’s King’s Guard. Nile knew that would be the case when they were still running about the palace playing with sticks rather than swords. Now that he’s a monarch, Cat requires an equally devoted guard meant only to serve at </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>command too. “We can’t call it the King’s Guard,” Nile tells Cat over breakfast the morning after his wedding. His silver crown is settled prettily on his dark hair and every time she mentions it he blushes like it’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to him. She can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take him to get used to it, but either way she intends to bring it up whenever she can. That, and all the other elements of being a monarch of Shams. “If we call it the King’s Guard it’ll get confused with Yusuf’s,” she explains even though it’s probably more than a little obvious. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>used </span>
  </em>
  <span>to call Fatima’s guard the Queen’s Guard, but you’re not a Queen either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for noticing,” Cat mumbles around a mouthful of sfinz as Yusuf snorts into his juice cup. The pastries are Yusuf’s favorite, with honey rather than molasses. The sprinkled sugar stains Cat’s fingers. He wipes them off on his napkin before reaching for some juice. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Anyway,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>NIle presses on, “The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Prince</span>
  </em>
  <span> Guard is usually for, well, the children of the monarchy. So even though you’re technically Prince Consort, the title doesn’t really fit well here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What guards cats in the wild?” Yusuf muses. There’s a shuffling under the table and Yusuf jerks in his seat. Nile strongly suspects that someone, either Cat or Amelie, kicked him. Considering both look entirely innocent as they continue eating their pastries, Nile’s not quite sure which. Behind him, Sebastien doesn’t even blink. For the head of the King’s Guard, he has no compunctions whatsoever when it comes to letting Yusuf get whacked when he deserves it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m rather certain cats take care of themselves,” the new Prince Consort suggests. Nile squints at him. He doesn’t look up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the Moon Guard?” Amelie asks. “We could change the name of Yusuf’s to the Sun Guard too if we wanted to be consistent.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not bad. Nile rubs at her chin as she considers it. They’ve been keeping a steady theme going with their constant attention to the unification of the two cultures. It would make sense, at least for Cat, to have a Moon Guard. Still, perhaps it draws </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>much attention to their cultural differences. “Some people won’t like it.” Especially those who were still put out that Yusuf has continued to refuse any mention of a potential mistress to carry on his line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the more reason to do it,” Yusuf says. Leaning back in his chair, he glances at Sebastien. “Any recommendations on who should fill our new force?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few,” Sebastien says. He steps closer so as not to strain Yusuf’s neck, still keeping an eye on the room as a whole even as he joins their conversation in a more official capacity. “I’d like to ask for Andromache’s return to service if she’s willing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile smiles at the idea, nudging Cat’s arm excitedly as the thought takes hold. There’s likely no one better </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>serve on the Moon Guard, let alone leading it. Andromache loves Cat, and she’s no stranger to the posting. She’d been the head of Yusuf’s guard when he’d been a child, before he and Sebastien went to fight in the war. Ibrahim had sent her away to lead the Reaper community in Irania and serve as a cleric in the Kingsmeet. With the Kingsmeet likely never to function properly in their lifetimes, keeping her shackled to such a position is foolish...and there </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>other Reapers in Irania who could take up her position as teacher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you spoken to her about it?” Cat asks Sebastien. There’s something almost yearning in his voice. He sits up a bit straighter and meets Sebastien’s eyes as he asks. Hope all but shimmering around the contours of his expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve discussed it as a possibility. I’d need formal approval…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf doesn’t even let him finish. “Done, if she’s amenable to it then I am as well. I’ll make the arrangements to have her previous duties filled.” He pauses then, biting his lip only for a fraction of a second before lowering his voice. “If this is what you want, Cat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Yes I’d like...I’d like to have her here. If she can. If we can. I’d like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It fits with the theme,” Amelie concurs, grinning as she sets her cutlery down by her plate to signal to the servants she’s finished with her meal. “Reapers and children of Mezzaluna.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door to their dining room opens and one of Sebastien’s guardsmen enters. Sebastien steps back from the table and intercepts the man before he can approach. They share some quick words. Nile sips at her juice, thinking idly about who else would be a good fit for Cat’s guard. It’s a strange idea, providing protection to someone who can’t physically die, and whose wounds healed far too quick for even medicine or attention to be required. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sebastien returns to Yusuf’s side, leaning down to quietly speak. “There’s an emissary from Mezzaluna at the gates,” he says. “He says he brings word from their King.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somehow I doubt our king is the same king,”  Yusuf murmured. “Have him brought to the throne room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chairs screech against the floor as everyone stands in haste. Yusuf takes Cat’s gloved hand in his. He leans over to say something Nile can’t hear. She rushes to catch up even as Sebastien starts giving his men orders and rerouting after them all as soon as he’s done. He bumps her shoulder as he runs back to position, apologizing under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ll reach the throne well before the emissary, but that knowledge doesn’t slow their progress at all. Once there, it’s a matter of appearances. Yusuf’s straightening his clothes, his crown, his hair. Cat is all but frozen before his seat. Nile touches his wrist. “Cat?” He doesn’t respond. He closes his eyes. Breathes in deep, then sits. Yusuf sits at his side. Nile adjusts so she’s standing to Cat’s left. Amelie is on Yusuf’s right. Andromache arrives, moments before their guest, with a contingent of guards that Sebastien must have called for. She’s meant to stand just off to the left of the throne’s dias, but she approaches Cat first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand goes to his face, covering his left cheek. He holds it there even as she leans down to press her lips to his brow. She’s very nearly touching his silver crown as she kisses him. Nile can’t hear the words she murmurs to him, but whatever she says has Cat’s back straightening. His hand drops to the armrest of his throne. Andromache steps back and moves into her position. Her first moment on a Moon Guard that hasn’t even officially been organized yet, and it’s this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors open and a herald announces the emissary: “Angelo Torres, of Mezzaluna your majesties.” Yusuf and Cat stand in unison to greet the man appropriately. Torres is a tall man, pale faced and light haired. He’s dressed in a sharply cut tunic and firm riding trousers that appear to be some kind of leather. His inseam has been weathered from constant riding. Nile imagines he’s often travelling from one corner of Mezzaluna to another to pass along royal missives. She wonders if he’s ever been so far into Shams before. Judging by the sneering smile on his face, he’s not discomfited by his presence in the palace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two men follow behind Torres, each carrying a box. Torres doesn’t bow to Yusuf. He’s not a citizen of Shams and it isn’t required to do so. It’d be polite, but he sacrifices the bow by instead dipping his head in a slight form of respect. “I thank you for the audience, King of Shams,” Torres says. The tone sends a thread of disdain up and down Nile’s back. Her teeth clench tightly and she needs to resist the urge to scrunch her nose up at the noise. She’s never heard anything so disrespectful in her life. “I come on behalf of King Merrick of Mezzaluna.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do not recognize King Merrick </span>
  <em>
    <span>as </span>
  </em>
  <span>the King of Mezzaluna,” Yusuf says steadily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Torres’ irritating smirk shifts downwards. “Yes,” he says. “My king has heard.” Torres’ gaze flicks toward Cat. “Nicolo, Reaper of Città Lunare…I remember when you died.” To his credit, Cat doesn’t outwardly react. He stands still as stone, tight lipped and regal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he does respond, he does so only after he takes a few steadying breaths. His words are soft, but they carry. “Were you there, also, when I killed my father at my mother’s request?” he asks. The smirk dissipates fully from Torres’ face. He stares at Nicolo, and Nicolo stares back. “Or when I served my mother as her executioner for those who defied her?” Nicolo walks down the three steps of the dias until he’s at a level with Torres. “Or when she ordered me to come to Shams to secure the end of this war and bring peace for our people?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was not,” Torres admits, though it seems to choke him to say it. Andromache has stayed in line with Cat as he moved. She forms a triangle between Torres and Cat, one hand at the hilt of her blade. Waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what my younger brother has to say,” Cat beseeches. Torres swings his hand back and gestures to the first man and box. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man approaches, kneels down, and offers the box up. It’s large, perhaps a meter across and half a meter in depth and height. Yusuf steps from the dias and comes in line with Cat, watching the scene warily even as Sebastien comes to investigate the offering. “King Najima of Shams murdered our Queen,” Torres says. “He was brought to justice following his surrender at the Kingsmeet. I’ve brought his effects, his raiment and valuables, to return to Shams where they belong.” Nile yearns to go to Amelie. To support her as she stares down at the box Torres is offering. Her face has drained of blood. She reaches a shaking hand out and leans against the throne for support. It isn’t appropriate. It’s the most politically egregious action Nile has ever seen Amelie take, but no one is paying any attention to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one, except Nile, who breaks her position and goes to her friend despite appearances and necessities. She wraps one arm around Amelie’s back and holds her. The other arm snakes about so Nile can take Amelie’s hand in hers. “Do you want to leave?” she whispers even as Sebastien carefully opens the box to confirm Torres’ tale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Amelie whispers back. The box opens and the fine clothes of King Najima are revealed to them all. Yusuf’s hands tremble. Sebastien turns toward him and waits for instructions. His sword is always ready to move, but Nile doubts that Yusuf will have him use it. Not for this. Even as painful as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>gift </span>
  </em>
  <span>is, even as harsh as the reminder is that Najima had lost </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>just to help manipulate the throne and their countries the way it needed to be moved, Mezzaluna didn’t need to return these things. They didn’t need to give them a form of closure when it came to Najima’s fate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, for such care,” Yusuf says. Sebastien closes the box and moves it away. He calls one of his fellows to take it. It will be inspected more thoroughly before any of the royal family are permitted to interact with it, but for now, it’s there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“King Merrick wishes to make it known that he rejects Nicolo son of Astra as the heir to the throne. No Reaper will ever rule </span>
  <em>
    <span>our </span>
  </em>
  <span>people. If Nicolo recants his claim, King Merrick will permit him to remain in Shams.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if I do not?” Cat asks. “I am no longer permitted to stay here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then as a Reaper of Mezzaluna it is your </span>
  <em>
    <span>duty</span>
  </em>
  <span> to return to your cell,” Torres snaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not Cat who flinches, though Nile had expected it, nor even Yusuf, but Sebastien. Sebastien, who recoils badly enough that Torres is forced to pay attention to him. Sebastien, whose hand snaps to his blade and who starts hissing low and hatefully. “You will never say such a thing again,” Sebastien says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who are you to make such demands?” Torres asks. His haughty nature almost manages to hide the hint of uncertainty that Nile can just make out. He hasn’t retreated from his position, he’s too seasoned of a negotiator for such a thing, but he’s looking at Sebastien with something like wariness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, Amelie has gone rigid in Nile’s grasp. Her hand squeezes tight on Nile’s. “This man is my heir’s fiancé, and as such his voice has power in my council,” Yusuf states. “Even if he weren’t, I would repeat such a notion in my own words. My </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband </span>
  </em>
  <span>will not return to your cells regardless of his desire to claim his rightful place on his throne.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your husband is a citizen of Mezzaluna, first and foremost,” Torres refutes “The more he states that he is her King, the more that becomes apparent. If he’s so desperate to be recognized as a Mezzaluna citizen, then he must abide by her laws. The laws state that all Reapers are to report to the cells. That is where they live, and that is where they will remain until the monarchy decides otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Helplessness floods through Nile’s body as her brother stares Torres down. Nile can taste violence in the air. The whole room has been wound like a clock too tight. All the springs are ready to burst, the gears are grinding to keep going forward in the right direction. Cat says, “I do not renounce my claim,” and Torres smiles gamefully. He motions for the second box to be brought forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromache intercedes. She takes it for Cat, even though it had been on its way to be deposited in his hands. Andromache holds the box between her palms. It’s smaller than the first one by a large margin. This is only about the size of a large jar. Books or perhaps something small and oblong could be placed inside but not much else. “My King wishes me to remind Nicolo of Mezzaluna, that monsters </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>be killed. It merely takes a long time to exhaust their ability to return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open it,” Cat murmurs. His voice is still so very quiet. Nile isn’t even sure she heard the words. Perhaps she’d only imagined them. Perhaps it had just been what she’d known he’d say at the end of it all. Andromache hesitates. She looks back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t see anything that you need to see,” she argues. A newly named Moon Guard for Cat’s bodily and </span>
  <em>
    <span>mental </span>
  </em>
  <span>well being as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Cat tells her. “But I need to know who.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicolo?” Yusuf asks softly. Nile squeezes down on Amelie’s body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should take you away,” she says, but she doesn’t move. Amelie is rigid between Nile’s grasp. They’re both locked in place, the same as everyone else in the room, waiting for a reveal that no one had anticipated the morning after Yusuf and Cat’s jubilant wedding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromache opens the box. Nile can’t see what it is. Andromache keeps the lid low and only allows Cat the briefest of glances. Cat stares at it. He doesn’t move. Yusuf peers inwards and recoils badly. He shoots a hand out to try to stop Sebastien, but Sebastien must recognize whatever is inside. He shouts. He shouts and all but propels himself forward. Yusuf drags him back, shoving him bodily toward the throne. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Leave,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yusuf snaps toward Torres. “Leave and tell your </span>
  <em>
    <span>master </span>
  </em>
  <span>that we will not recant our position. That Nicolo </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>the rightful ruler of Mezzaluna, and we </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>be marching forth to put him on his throne. Tell him that the only monster in Mezzaluna is Merrick himself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Torres has no final words for them. He and his companions depart swiftly and with every intention of holding on to their lives as long as they can. He’s a seasoned negotiator. He knows when to flee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelie yanks herself from Nile’s grasp. She runs to Sebastien and places her hands on his arms. He recoils away from her even as he stares at Yusuf, lips trembling and eyes wide. In a day where the two most dedicated members of the royal household had made breeches of etiquette, Sebastien’s was by far the worst. Yusuf doesn’t reproach him though. He doesn’t even seem to know what to do. Nile strides across the floor, watching as her brother dithers between Cat (still standing just as still as he had since the moment he box opened) and Sebastien. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Nile asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A head,” Andromache replies. She closes the box. Cat reaches for it even as a wounded noise breaks free from Yusuf’s throat. He lifts his hands as if to stay Cat’s response, but he doesn’t do anything more. Cat takes the box from Andromache and holds it to his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her name was Maya,” Cat says. “She was like a mother to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he turns and walks out of the throne room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sebastien lets out a harsh wail that reaches down into the center of Nile’s chest and rends her heart from her soul. He collapses to the ground and tears fall from his face as Amelie tries to hold him. To comfort him. Yusuf stares after Cat, and Nile can see he’s crying too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are the people we’re meant to conjoin our country with?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her brother rounds on her. “These are the people who need to be saved from their ruler,” he replies. Then, decision made, he follows after his husband. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile doesn’t see either of them for the rest of the day. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Quynh wakes Nile just before dawn. She’s rude about it, as Quynh often is. She marches into the room without any care or consideration to Nile’s preferences, throwing open the doors so hard they slam against the wall. Nile bolts upright in bed as Quynh approaches. The sheets tangle about Nile’s legs as she yanks them up to her chin. “Get out!” she yells, more startled than anything else. Quynh ignores her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A messenger has arrived from the front,” Quynh informs, brisk and firm. She doesn’t bat an eye at the nightcap that Nile wears to keep her tightly woven braids in their proper order, nor does she seem to notice that Nile’s barely even awake enough to respond to the news Quynh brings. The old Giver throws back the curtains that hide the sunrise winking over the horizon. “Altas has fallen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s impossible.” Nile fumbles, trying to get to the edge of the bed as quickly as she can. The sheets cling tight to her legs. She thrashes, kicking and slapping until she manages to untangle herself from the mess. Falling rather ungracefully to her feet, Nile sways as she stands. She trips and stumbles all the way to her robe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wake the King,” Quynh commands. “The messenger is in the throne room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoving her feet into a pair of boots, Nile all but runs after her old mentor. Quynh has turned left in the hall, on her way to wake all the other important parties. Nile veers in the opposite direction to reach her brother’s chamber. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yanking her night cap off, she shoves it into the pocket of her robe. Her hands slap hastily at her face, rubbing sand from her eyes. By the time she reaches Yusuf’s room she feels almost ready to wake him. It’s not enough, but it will have to do. Knocking three times, she lets herself in. She stops short when she finds her brother not on the floor by the bed as she’d expected, but sprawled out before his fireplace. Cat is curled protectively in his arms. Yusuf’s arms squeezing him close, even in sleep, barricading him from all evil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The box with Maya’s head is nowhere in sight. Perhaps they’d buried it. Perhaps they’d burned it. Either way, it’s almost certain that the pair had fallen asleep together part way through conversation. They’re leaning against the chaise, as if they’d just sat down to finish talking and then sleep overwhelmed them both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At her approach, Yusuf jerks upright. His arm tightens around his new husband. Cat flinches and twitches. They both turn to her. “News from the war,” Nile murmurs, apologetic and soft. They react better than she did. Both lurch to their feet. They’re still dressed from the day before, and neither bother to adjust themselves as they rush for the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, it’s all a rush. Sebastien arrives just as they’re leaving the royal chambers, Andromache at his heels. No one seems to have slept well. Dark circles and red sclera are present on every face. Even so, Yusuf asks rapid fire questions that no one has any answers for. Just the same news that Nile had been told. Altas has fallen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Entering the throne room, Yusuf elongates his stride. He’s not running, but it takes two of Nile’s steps for each one of his. She feels like she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>running by the time they reach the messenger. The man is drenched with sweat. Someone has procured him a glass of water, but it stays undrunk within his trembling hand. Dirt stains his armor and skin. His black hair is wild in the dim light of day. “Y-Your majesty—” he tries to bow, but he’s holding the glass. It splashes as his hand come swiftly to his chest, spreading liquid all down his front. He doesn’t even seem to notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whites of his eyes are so prominent it makes Nile feel sick. Even from several paces away she can sense the man’s pulse. It’s far too rapid for a resting heart rate. His breaths are too quick. Any moment now he’ll pass out. She makes a noise in the back of her throat and Cat waves his fingers back at her. He’s noticed too. He turns back to Andromache. “May we get him a chair?” Andromache nods curtly and barks an order at a servant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No-no I don’t need it.” The glass slips unnoticed from the man’s hand. It smashes to the ground. He flinches badly, stumbling backwards and staring at it like he had no idea what happened. Then, his eyes jerk back up to Yusuf’s. “Altas. Altas, sir, your majesty, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sir, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chair’s been produced. It’s placed behind him, but he pays it no mind. He keeps blinking, mouth floundering as nonsense words slip between his teeth. Cat presses his gloved hand to the man’s shoulder and gently pushes him back into the chair. As soon as he sits, the messenger’s heart starts to slow again. The anxiety hormones that had been wreaking havoc through his body ceased their production with almost instant effect. “You didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to touch him for that,” Nile murmurs as Cat steps away from the man to allow Yusuf room to approach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he’d still been standing he’d have collapsed from the relief,” Cat whispers back. He doesn’t take his eyes off the messenger, even as the enforced calm of emotional nothingness starts to push through him. Nile waits to see if shock starts to set in, but Cat’s done a good job. As far as she can tell, the man’s anxiety symptoms has only been alleviated. Nothing else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell us about Altas,” Yusuf beseeches, glancing in their direction but not giving rise to any questions or comments he might have about the messenger’s sudden clarity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They came at night. Hundreds of them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thousands. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It...the army fell in moments. Then...the city.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” Yusuf presses. “How did the army fall?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The dead, sir,” the messenger says. Nile feels the change in the man’s emotions. Cat hadn’t killed the process that had been creating the hormonal imbalance, just the ones present in the man’s system already. It hadn’t taken long, and now the anxiety had returned, flushing through him with such desperation that Nile presses her fingers to the man’s bare hand, willing him to calm. “The </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead </span>
  </em>
  <span>came!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reapers,” Andromache answers for him. The messenger looks right at her. His wide eyes glisten brightly. “Mezzaluna sent </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reapers </span>
  </em>
  <span>into Altas?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They killed everyone,” the messenger says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There...there were so many. It didn’t matter what anyone did. They kept coming. They kept coming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sebastien hisses quietly. Nile watches as Cat’s head snaps about to look at him. When their eyes meet, Sebastien tells him: “That’s against the law of combat. Reapers and Givers have no place on the battlefield.” Nile tries very hard not to look at her brother. “Why would any Reaper follow </span>
  <em>
    <span>Merrick?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sebastien asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile half thinks it’s a rhetorical question, but Cat answers it anyway. Quiet and with his eyes trained on the floor, he says: “For a chance to see the sky,” and Sebastien makes that hissing sound once more.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many?” Yusuf asks the messenger. “How many people are dead?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of them,” the messenger replies. “The city is full of the dead. There’s no one left alive.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>An hour after the sun breaks past the horizon, Yusuf leads a relief force to Altas. Decisions are made fast and without any room for compromise. Amelie assumes control of Jerrah as Yusuf armed himself for war. He penned one law into order before he left, giving it to her to present to the court. Givers are once more permitted to ascend to the throne of Shams. Perhaps it’s cowardly, but he fully intends to be far away from his parliament by the time they realize what the implications are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There aren’t many people that Yusuf trusts on this mission. Even so, he can’t dither. He forces himself into action, and with each choice he makes - his progress moves forward one way or another. There’s no room for hesitation any longer. Altas fell, and if the Reaper army is allowed to proceed further into Shams, it won’t be the only city to do so. No city could withstand that tide unaided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So aid he’ll bring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sends orders for Quynh to go to Irania and collect as many Givers as possible to bring to the new front of the war. If Merrick wants to play a game of life and death, then he’ll meet each assault with the proper force to match. Their kind had no place in war, and it is time Merrick is reminded of that fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat rides at Yusuf’s side. Andromache and Sebastien bracketing them together. Cat hasn’t said much since the news was brought from Altas. There isn’t much that can be said. He knew as well as Yusuf that there’s nothing they can do except go to the city and see for themselves what’s happening. They set their horses to a nice even lope, hoping to cover as much ground as they can before they need to rest. It keeps Yusuf from speaking with his husband. Keeps him from asking Cat a question he should have asked long ago: one that they’ve both toyed with, but had never come up with an answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What do we do about the Mezzaluna army? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The soldiers are Cat’s people, one way or another. They’ve invaded Shams, but they’ve done so under orders. How can Cat say he is their King, and that he is meant to rule them, if they do any harm to those soldiers? He’ll invalidate his claim and turn into a parriah before his countrymen. Even more than being a Reaper already has made him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no </span>
  <em>
    <span>time </span>
  </em>
  <span>for such questions, and yet the answer is necessary to proceed. As they ride, Yusuf tries to come up with every possible option that he can think of. None of them feel right. None of them have the glow of acceptance and understanding that make difficult decisions more tolerable because the ends justifies the means. Mezzaluna already hates and despises Cat’s kind. If he provides any kind of proof that he’s unfit to rule, he’ll never be able to ascend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And still, they ride on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun burns harshly against Yusuf’s skin, stinging it with a heat that he used to relish not too long ago. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Merrick had sent Cat Maya’s head. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yusuf’s arms can still recall the feeling of his father’s head. Nestled between the crooks of his elbows. Sebastien being dragged before him for an execution that Yusuf couldn’t stop without compromising everything about who he was and what he could do. The heavy laden weight of a skull wrapped in flesh that had once been beloved and familiar, burned an unseeable scar across the synapses of Yusuf’s senses. And they’d done that to Cat. They’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>sent him Maya’s head.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf’s eyes pricked against the harsh glare across the clay earth as the only wind came from the speed he urged his horse to move. They wouldn’t be able to gallop the whole way to Altas, but a long strided canter would get them far enough to cut the journey down to the shortest possible length of time. And even as they ride, Yusuf’s blood rushes and his thoughts churn over and over around the reality of the confrontation that started because they’d wanted peace and it’d come in the form of their orphaning and the shattering of hearts and minds in the name of justice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time night falls, they’re more than halfway there. Yusuf knows he’ll be in the city by noon the following day, but it still feels like it is too long. Too far out. Worse yet, is the utter lack of civilians on their journey. Not a single soul. Not one encampment of refugees trying to flee the turmoil. It does nothing at all to soothe Yusuf’s soul, nor his temper. He grits his teeth against the ghastly feeling even as he shoves himself off his horse and signals for his men to make camp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spies Cat, gingerly slipping off his horse’s saddle with the precarious tenacity he maintained every time he rode. Yusuf takes half a step forward, before stopping. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to control the roiling emotions that have been crashing against the pometaries of his sensibilities for nearly a full twenty-four hours. Maya’s head. The dead of Altas. He imagines the dirt stained fingers of corpses reaching up from the ground and sliding their way along his body until they squeeze the breath from his throat, all the while asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>why. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf turns away from his husband. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves his horse with Sebastien, ignoring as his best friend shouts his name and tries to get his attention. Yusuf doesn’t want to talk to Sebastien. Doesn’t want to hear him try to make any of this right. They hadn’t even had time for Sebastien to marry Amelie before they’d needed to rush back to the front. Maya’s dead. Altas has fallen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot,” Andromache informs him, snatching him by the collar like a misbehaving cat trying to slink out the door. And before, he might have laughed or rolled his eyes or done anything else. But now, he throws his arm back and around and tries to hit her because he knows she can take it and he needs to hit someone who won’t mind hitting back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets a broken nose for his efforts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sidesteps the moment his fist came toward her, throwing him one way and crashing her elbow into his face as her arm locks around his own. Yusuf hits the ground, black and white speckles flickering out above his eyes. He thinks he might have passed out for a moment, but when he focuses enough to realize his nose is healing, he realizes that Andromache’s leaning over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glances back towards his men. From a hundred paces away, they’re all doing an admirable job of pretending they didn’t notice a thing. Yusuf can’t see Cat, but he thinks that might be for the best too. “What are you doing?” Andromache asks him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to bring them back.” He says it clearly, smoothly. His hands press against the sun baked clay. There’s blood trickling down his lips but he feels his nose fixing the capillaries. The blood will stop soon, and it will be as if it never happened. Yusuf wonders if the flesh scars in ways the human eye cannot see, and if someone were to look at him under this gaze of understanding, would he be a puzzle that could be pieced back together with small but intangible lines that connected every piece of the whole, or would he be a mosaic with a few tiles awkward and loose, fragmented from reality in every way that truly mattered. He’s not sure anymore. But his nose heals. He stands up, and meets Andromache’s eyes. “I’m going to bring them all back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never done that before,” she says. She doesn’t say he can’t do it. Doesn’t say that he’s not capable. She’s never done that. Not even when he was a child and wept because Sebastien had broken his neck falling from a wall they never should have climbed, and Yusuf hadn’t known if he could have saved Sebastien then. He’d only known that he’d had to. So he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to do it,” he tells Andromache. “So I will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stares at him for a long while. As if she were putting together his shatter mosaic piece by piece, forming a picture in her mind that he hopes is real. “Do you know why Cat was sent to Shams?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The transition, as with most lessons that he has with Andromache, startles him. “To kill my family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any Reaper could do it. One very nearly managed it before Cat interfered. But why send him. Why did Mezzaluna believe that he could do it, could </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch </span>
  </em>
  <span>all those people before he was captured?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf glances back over to all of the people who had ridden with him without question. His sister, his dearest friend, his husband—now visible at Sebastien’s side. Cat’s looking their way, frowning and bundled up in his riding gear. Windswept hair doing nothing to hide the sharp clarity of Cat’s gaze. Andromache makes a noise between her teeth. It’s sharp and hissing, a whistle of sorts that has Cat leaving the others and making his way toward them. “Ask him,” Andromache commands Yusuf. She leaves him there, walks past Cat as he comes near, and continues on her way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat hesitates as she departs, watching her slip by before turning back to Yusuf. He looks as uncertain as Yusuf feels, but that frown of his gets ever deeper as he seems to spot the blood on Yusuf’s face. “She didn’t need to hit you that hard,” Cat mutters. He doesn’t pull a cloth out to dab at Yusuf’s lips. Yusuf swipes the sticky red streams off with his sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I deserved it for trying to hit her first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t have done that either,” Cat condemns even-handedly. He’ll make a good King one day. If they can ever get him on the throne his birthright demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to bring them back,” Yusuf tells his husband. It’s the only thought he can think of to say. The only thing that really, truly, matters. “I have to bring them back. A whole city? I—they shouldn’t die for this. They can’t keep dying for </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a prepared speech, not a decision meant to be overheard by the revelers or the camp followers who always report on command’s decisions. But he wishes that it was more coherent. That when he spoke it didn’t sound like the desperate pleas of a child, but of a King who knew full well what needed to be done and was prepared to face all possible consequences for that action. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you done something like this before?” Cat asks. He doesn’t even sound surprised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought...Bas back. When I didn’t see him. When I didn’t know where he was. I brought him back but that was...I don’t know how I...I just…” Yusuf sinks his head into his hands. Between his feet is a hardy stalk of a calotropis. It’s been bent and stepped on, but its integrity remains mostly intact. Yusuf draws breath through his teeth. He lets it out, ignoring the whistling hiss that sounds far too much like the Reaper cells for his liking.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a monster,” Cat says. Yusuf’s head snaps up. Reaching his hand out, Cat continues even as Yusuf starts to protest. “I’m a monster, because I was raised to believe I’m a monster. That anything I touch will die, and everything around me will decay because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>exist.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Twitching his fingers just a touch, Cat’s eyes fall to the calotropis between them. Its hardy leaves and star shaped flowers wilt and droop. It flattens against the earth, twisting sadly under a suggestion from so far away that life itself did not need to go on for one moment any longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not a monster, Cat,” Yusuf says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I believe I am. And this is how monsters behave. This is what monsters </span>
  <em>
    <span>do. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They kill everything in sight. They destroy all around them. And if you believe in something long enough and hard enough, you make it a reality even if truth itself needs to distort around its perception of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand falls back to his side. The calotropis has turned brown and crippled. All the moisture has fled its sturdy body. All its strength and prosperity that had ensured its survival when Yusuf trod over it earlier, gone at the whim of a man who never touched it at all. “The very best and worst things in existence, are those that leave no trace. The ideas that we believe are the ones that we form into our reality. What do you believe, Yusuf? What </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>you believe when you brought Sebastien back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That I could do it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do your people believe about you? What do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>believe that you can do...for them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to bring them back.” He says. A refrain, but the only one he knows. The only truth he’d known from the moment he heard what had happened in Altas. The only path he can contemplate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you will,” Cat replies. They’re the only words that matter. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They reach Altas the next day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf and Cat ride out to meet the line of soldiers that occupy the gates of the city. Sebastien and the others wait, one hundred meters away, as their Kings prepare to sue for peace. The gates are open. There are corpses lining the streets. Piled here and there, soaking the hot earth with blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The soldiers don’t come out to meet them. They do not fight. They stand there in their armor. Their weapons glisten in the sun. Their arms are lax with grips loose and disinclined to engage. They’re arranged like a poorly maintained wall, only two rows deep. Four men step out and around, creating a gap where a stream of naked bodies flow through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bodies move with uncoordinated steps. Their arms and legs jerk awkwardly. It would have been days...weeks perhaps, since they had been freed from their cells, and yet as the Reapers approach they show no signs of having become used to their new range of motion. And they </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>Reapers. Yusuf’s eyes flit from face to face. Black scars are seared into each Reaper’s face. They charge forwards, hands outstretched and mouths turned into gaping maws. Their teeth snap and clack loud enough to be heard over their hurried steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf’s heart thunders behind his ribs. He rests one hand on the hilt of his sword. It’s a pointless movement. One that steadies his anxiety only for a short while, as the rest of his mind whirls forward in a desperate attempt at coming up with an answer that the whole ride to Altas had refused to manifest. Cat’s fingers wrap around his wrist. His pale grip tightens just a little. Just enough to make Yusuf look at him, uncertain and hopeful in one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Cat raises his left hand. His glove is still on, but he raises it anyway. His eyes close and Yusuf </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels </span>
  </em>
  <span>something shift in the air. It’s not like when he touches Cat’s skin. It doesn’t feel like the tingling sensation of possibility that lingers between them each time their bodies connect. Then, he feels both the desperate pull of opposite magnets trying to connect while also repelling themselves at the same time. An overpowering need to chase after the strength that lies in the very pores of Cat’s body, mixed with the hearty sense of similarity that is too much too quick. Cat’s power felt strong and measured when Yusuf touched him. There’d never been any denying who or what Cat is. And yet now, Yusuf doesn’t measure the magnetic sensation of their natures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he tastes it in the air. The smell of ozone spasms across the ground between Yusuf, Cat, and the Reapers. The hair on the back of Yusuf’s neck stands on edge. He expects to see electricity start to crackle between them, but nothing visual catches his eye. The Reapers keep advancing. Cat keeps his hand right where it is and the pressure builds. The taste is undeniable, sharp and tangy. It sours and turns bitter soon after. Yusuf’s nose crinkles as the air thickens. Tears press to his eyes without conscious awareness. His body trembles and almost pulls away from Cat’s touch on mere instinct alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat’s fingers turn vicious on his wrist. He can’t squirm away. Not even when the Reapers are mere meters from them both. But then, just as the first naked man crosses the threshold of bitter, invisible, storm that lies between them all, Yusuf feels no desire to leave. The man drops to his knees before them, eyes wide and staring up at Cat as if he were a god.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest break the line. They make it no farther than their companion. Each collapses to their knees. Some keel over, their hands bracing them on the clay ground. Their skin is shifting and morphing along their flesh. Their faces turning emaciated and filling out over and over again. Their hair falls from their scalps. Their stomachs cave inwards and then start to protrude. They cough, gagging up blood and bile that stains the ground before them with a far more visible line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Nicolo, son of Astra. I am your King, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>listen to me,” Cat commands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drops his hand, and the sharp bitterness of the air blows away on a sharp breeze. Hundreds of Reapers lay sprawled at Cat’s feet. None of them dead, for none of them could truly die, but all lying in states of agonized frenzy. They stare at Cat with wide uncomprehending eyes. Yusuf flits his gaze from face to face. He recognizes none of them. Not a single person looks familiar. Whoever these Reapers are, they hadn’t been beneath the capitol during his imprisonment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have time to analyze further. No sooner had Cat finished speaking, than did the Mezzaluna soldiers break from their tattered wall. Their weapons raise in the air. Their limbs turn into formation, ready to run. Ready to charge. Cat’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaning </span>
  </em>
  <span>on Yusuf. His hand on Yusuf’s wrist shifting from restraining to desperate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf stares past them. Stares through them. He narrows his gaze on the masses killed in a war that had no reason, save violence and hatred. . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathes deep. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come back, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now is not your time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The soldiers start their charge. Cat’s breath catches in his throat. His exhaustion is palpable, and even still Cat keeps his own attention on the Reapers under his command. He gives Yusuf all the time he could ask for. All the time he deserves. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now is not your time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He believes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And through the gates, the bodies begin to move. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As a friendly reminder, I'm in my thesis defense season atm for my MA and I'm also applying to PhD programs. I'm juggling a lot atm so updates are going to be a bit than with previous installments. Thanks for your patience!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It all happens too fast. Later, Nile will chastise herself on how long it took her to realize the threat for what it was and </span>
  <em>
    <span>move. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But she’d been stunned still. Stunned as the first wave of Reapers had charged forward and been stopped at the firm command of her best friend. Cat’s hands outstretched, his intention clear and his power so complete that she could feel the air sharpening with an electricity she hadn’t known existed. Up above, the sky darkens as cloud start forming en masse. The storm had driven her to stillness, and when the second wave of Mezzaluna soldiers started their charge, she hadn’t realized that Cat wasn’t going to stop them too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat’s sagging against Yusuf. His limbs— shaking and unsteady. Nile can’t see his face, but she can see his posture. Can see how Yusuf is the only thing keeping him standing, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>that hadn’t been enough to drive her forward. It had only been Sebastien, cursing at her side, and Andromache spurring her mare into a full charge that roused Nile’s suspicion that whatever Cat had done at the start would not be replicated a second time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile kicks her gelding hard in the ribs she squeezes her thighs tight around the beast and the horse thrusts into a gallop. Hitching herself up into a half-seat, Nile draws the saber that she’d been given by the armorer before they’d departed. It’s smaller than the longsword Cat’s been practicing with, but she manages it better with one hand on her reins and the other devoted toward battle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sebastien reaches the crush of the soldiers first, swinging his own saber down to hack at one soldier even as his horse tramples another. Blood splashes high in the sky, but Nile can’t hear anything. The sound of the battle, shouts and yells and bodys crushing under the weight of animals many times their size, are muted behind the harsh gasping of Nile’s lungs. She knows there must be noise. Knows that even as she swings her sword down between Cat and a soldier trying to get far too close to her Kings, that there must be screaming at the very least. But all she hears is air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air as it whooshes past her when she yanks her gelding to a halt. The strangling hiss that gurgles up from her throat as she swivels this way and that. It echoes like a choir of breaths, all exhaling in a round of accentuated pulses. The battle of Altas is an orchestra of lungs breathing in and out as fast as they are able, bodies accompanying with a percussion made of death and decay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something strikes at her horse. It rears up and she guides it back down. She slashes her sword out again and again. Stabbing and slicing as hands reach up. They’re faceless monsters. They’re not living things. Every soldier is a suit of armor, a practice dummy set up in the training grounds or the King’s garden. They’re not people with lives or histories, they’re merely combatants. And one strikes her hard enough on her thigh that she screams through the breaths that echo in her ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile falls off her horse. Her leg is healed by the time she hits the ground, but there are hands everywhere. Hands that are reaching and grabbing. Everyone is suddenly too close and too tight. They’re pressing in and she’s lost. Turning this way and that. She has no room to swing her sword. All of Cat’s quiet lessons deep in the night of Elena’s parlor fly from her mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Watch your spacing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d said as she’d tested the length of her blade to see if she’d hit a wall or table or chair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Make sure you have room. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But she doesn’t have room. Everyone is too tight and too close. She can’t make room. They’re all around her. She doesn’t have the range to slash like she wants. She can’t stab anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to stab something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crush is claustrophobic. The breaths that had made up her orchestra now fly away in the very real sense that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she cannot breathe. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Panic rises up in her chest. Nile throws her hands out, bodily shoving someone from her even as she swivels her head this way and that. She sees her gelding running headlong toward the city. She sees Sebastien still astride his mount, keeping a firm barrier between the Mezzaluna soldiers and—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yusuf. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf isn’t moving. He’s standing, eyes blank and unfocused, his hand still outstretched toward the city as if whatever was happening there was more important than whatever was happening </span>
  <em>
    <span>here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nile screams his name, but he doesn’t react. She tries to get towards him. Her feet trip and stumble. She swivels about as something sharp slices through her side. Tears splash from her eyes as she flails badly and catches her attacker in the arm. They’re startled, but they keep going forwards. Bare fingers scratch at her skin. Sharp tingling pain flashing along her senses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let her </span>
  <em>
    <span>go,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cat’s voice commands from above the melee. The fingers at her wrist break free. Something is grabbing at her from behind, though, and she barely as the presence of thought to think about who it is before she’s stabbing with her saber. It sinks deep into the belly of her best friend, as her eyes register Cat standing right where he aughtn’t have been. Blood coughs out of Cat’s lips even as she screams. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cat!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stand </span>
  <em>
    <span>down!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cat yells, jerking her closer still, ignoring the blade that she yanks haphazardly from his gut. Blood gishes from the wound. It stains his black tunic an even deeper black. He doesn’t let go of her collar. He pulls her closer and closer, until she’s all but thrust behind him and he’s standing before her like a broken tower. “Stand </span>
  <em>
    <span>down!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There are Reapers, dozens of them...</span>
  <em>
    <span>hundreds </span>
  </em>
  <span>of them. They’re struggling to stand after whatever Cat had done to incapacitate them to begin with, and some had even started to rejoin the Mezzaluna armies in their fight. Their twitching fingers and bare skin rich for the murder of Shams’ soldiers as they struggled to protect their leaders in a melee that made no sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Cat’s right hand is his sword. The point digs into the earth as he leans on it like a crush. He’s glaring hard at the first row of Reapers. Blood leaks down from his eyes, his nostrils, his ears and lips. He’s stained with his own viscera, and when a soldier breaks free the line that Sebastien had set before Yusuf, Nile’s wrist is released so Cat can yank his sword free and slash out in defense of his husband. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf still hasn’t moved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat blocks the soldier. His arms tremble badly as he uses all his remaining strength to redirect the blade. Nile charges in-between the space that’s been made. Her sword tip up and viscous. It stabs through the Mezzaluna soldier’s throat. Blood splatters over her as she pulls the sword free. Vomit curdles in her stomach. She heaves, stumbling as the corpse falls to the ground. It twitches. Limbs thrashing as death struggles to take hold of its newest victim. And then the tear in the soldier’s throat heals itself. The soldier sits up, takes hold of his sword, and starts his attack again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromache removes the soldier’s head from his shoulders just as Nile scrambles to readjust her blade. Nile didn’t see what happened to Andromache’s horse, but it hardly seems to matter as the warrior plants herself firmly between them and their enemy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in all the years Nile’s known her, Andromache is not wearing gloves. Her sleeves are pulled back. Her bare skin shines like a tantalizing target that Andromache uses as a weapon. She snatches at the soldier’s flesh, squeezing her fingers around the man’s face even as she stabs another man through the heart. When she releases the first soldier he collapses to the ground. “He’s not a Reaper or a Giver,” Andromache calls over her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yusuf is bringing him back,” Cat replies, clutching one hand over his stomach. He’s teetering again, about ready to fall. Nile catches him under his arms, holding him upright even as the temporarily hesitating Reapers seem to assess whether his frailty meant they could continue their attack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Andromache snaps. She kills the same man a third time, then seems to decide that removing head from shoulders would at least delay the process for her to move on to another soldier. This one doesn’t flinch at her attack when she touches him, but he doesn’t fall instantly dead either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“s’the necklaces,” Cat slurs. His knees give out and Nile can barely keep him upright. She kneels down, settling him at the base of Yusuf’s stance. Her brother is still right where he was, oblivious to all the chaos and violence. He’s pale. Pale and trembling ever so slightly, but he’s unmoved by the army that’s suring at all sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as the Shams soldiers have formed a fairly well shaped perimeter around their Kings, it won’t matter at all if they cannot keep the enemy from rejoining the fight the moment they’ve been defeated. Every death ends with a resurection, and the resurections keep coming. Faster, it seems, then their own army can keep up with the killings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A Reaper charges toward a Shams soldier and Cat hisses out a word that Nile doesn’t understand. Instantly that Reaper collapses to the ground, howling in agony as blood streams from Cat’s eyes. “Stop! You’ll kill yourself!” Nile shouts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He coughs. Blood hits the ground beneath him. “S’the neck…” he mumbles. “Neck…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Nile looks. Looks for whatever it is that Cat’s trying to tell her. The only thing that’s keeping him focused beyond his own exhaustion and pain. The Reapers aren’t wearing any clothing or jewelry to speak of. But the Mezzaluna soldiers </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’d thought it was a design at first, a part of their armor perhaps. Nile’s never seen a Mezzaluna soldier this close before, and it took one of Andromache’s decapitated victims for her to spy whatever it was that caught Cat’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reaches for the pendant lying haphazardly on top of an awkwardly healing corpse. It feels like life against her palm. It feels like spring and healing and that moment right when she finds the right sense of existence that pushes reality just enough so it bends to her will. More than that. It feels like her </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Neck…” Cat slurs again even as he awkwarldy tries to stand. Andromache shouts something, but Nile can’t hear it. There are more soldier rising from the dead. They’re charging back at their forces. The only benefit seeming to be that for ever soldier on </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>side that gets killed, it appears </span>
  <em>
    <span>their own </span>
  </em>
  <span>soldiers are resucitating as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’ll go forever, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nile realizes dully. No one will live or die, not really. They’ll all just keep slashing and hacking at each other until the very end of the day when there’s nothing left to do but keep brandishing weapons or stop for the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An endless war replaying itself over and over again in its final form: a symphony of air that never quite feels satisfied with moving forward or staying still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile’s fingers clench tight around the necklace she’d pulled from the corpse. It’s already regrowing its lost head. Already stitching itself back together in a way that King Ibrahim and Cat’s Maya will never experience. Life is the start of all things, and while she may not be very good at other aspects of her ability, there is one thing Nile knows how to do very well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lifts her hands, and she commands it all to: “Burn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first necklace shatters in a burst of heat and fire that spreads so fast and so quick that Sebastien very nearly caught fire himself as he tried to rear his horse away from the flame. He falls from his horse, rolling over his shoulder to keep his momentum, and all of this takes place in the corner of Nile’s eye as she directs the heat to come alive in one necklace after another. The pendants burst and shatter, melting gold and leather and skin as spontaneous combustion breaks through the paltry encasement manufactured to hold Yusuf’s skill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d found a way to harness Yusuf’s ability, to make them safe against a Reaper’s touch, but it would not last. Andromache grabs at a still burning man who forsook attacking her in favor of desperately trying to put out his burning chest. Her skin graces against his cheek. The man crumbles in an instant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the Reapers notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The faster the fires spread the faster Cat’s hold on the Reapers trembles. They burst to their feet, and instead of charging at the Shams soldiers, they go for the Mezzaluna ones. “Pull back!” Andromache shouts, framing into position next to a newly upright Sebastien right in front of Yusuf. They stand back to back, swords aloft, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Mezzaluna soldiers screech and hollar, but they’re trapped. With a numb kind of curiosity, Nile watches them die. Most never even realize the Reapers are coming. The fire consumes their focus first. They are desperate to put themselves out, and that desperation leaves them blind to their surroundings. Even as Shams’ soldiers give them space to burn, the Reapers descend like vultures to corpses. And every time Yusuf’s power resurrects one of them, the Reapers are quick to put them right back down where they belong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one speaks. The screaming of the fires echoes acorss the plains. Some of the soldiers aren’t even killed by the Reapers, but are instead left to burn to nothingness only to revive while they’re still smoldering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sebastien speaks first. He hisses “Suns and stars…” beneath his breath. He turns away from the torment of the Mezzaluna army. “Your Majesty….your majesty please...that’s enough. That’s enough, brother.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile follows her brother’s empty gaze toward the gates of the city. There are people there. People stumbling and walking. People tripping over themselves. Leaving the city. Watching what’s happening outside. “Are they…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Altasians,” Cat mangles the word as he says it. It slips and slides over the vowels and consonents even as he finally colllapses to his shoulder at Yusuf’s feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromache whirls about to look at him. Fear paints her face even as Nile kneels at Cat’s side. There’s so much blood. It stains him utterly. “Stop talking,” Nile commands. She presses her hand to his cheek, right where his scar used to be. It’s a funny thing, healing death, but Nile can feel all the pathways and junctures that make up Cat’s anatomy so much easier than the frail and ill humans that used to haunter days in Irania. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those humans were all composed of sand. They were tiny indeterminable particles that made up a whole, and any one of those particles could be the illness or ailment that they wanted fixed. Any one of those failing grains of sand could be what needed to be amended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Cat is a shattered porcelain plate. Long jagged edges that slide smoothly back into position. All she needs to do is find the break and reattach it to where it had once been whole. All she needs to do is put the pieces where they belong. Cat’s stomach heals first. Then the bloody tears that had been caused by his tear ducts bursting under the pressure of his power. His eardrums that had ruptured as he put every ounce of his energy into stopping the Reapers from rampaging through their men. His throat that had been torn raw by the sheer desperation of his attempt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heals it all. One piece after another. They slide together and are made whole once more, invisible breaks shimmering with the golden touch of life seeping in between gluing the structure into position. Making him whole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls away, and when she does, Cat blinks up at her. He murmurs something she doesn’t quite catch. His hand pats hers gently. “Yusuf,” Sebastien beseeches. “Stop please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s everyone,” Cat says. “I sense no more dead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Yusuf breathes. “All right.” Then he collapses into a dead faint as Cat commands his Reapers once more to stop. Sebastien’s arms wrap around Yusuf’s body, catching him and lowering him gently to the ground. Nile reaches toward them both, but knows on sight that Yusuf is fine. He’s unconscious, but fine. Exhausted, but whole. Cat stands with Andromache’s help. He turns to look at Yusuf’s army. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take the soldiers as prisoners...I’ll...coordinate the Reapers.” To their credit, none of the soldiers hesitate to follow his command. Considering he’s drenched in his own blood, Nile imagines it’d be far too frightening a concept to even contemplate it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From inside the city, people start cheering. It echoes over the city walls and surrounds all of them with a sound of joy and bewildered disbelief. Nile closes her eyes, and feels the world breathe. Everyone within fifty kilometers of Altas is alive. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Yusuf wakes on a bed. He groans, hands shifting out around him as he rolls to his side. It’s dark when he opens his eyes. Dark and unfamiliar. He can hear voices. They’re muffled and undefined, but he hears them lifting up from the corners of the floorboards. Haunting the edges of his consciousness with ghosts that carry no shape or form. “Your husband’s a menace,” Sebastien informs him as he crosses in front of Yusuf’s vision. He’s carrying a lantern. He sets it down on the bedside table near Yusuf’s head. The light burns Yusuf’s eyes in layers. Gentle at first, then menacing as it sinks deeper into his synapses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bas,” Yusuf murmurs. His friend reaches around his shoulders to lift him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever he’d intended to say falls short as Sebastien sits at Yusuf’s hip. One hand cups Yusuf’s chin. It turns his face this way and that, as if inspecting a horse for its composition prior to sale. “He’s been running himself ragged, and Nile too with his efforts. Everytime he starts getting too tired to work, she comes along and tops him up with whatever healing magic seems to only work on him, and then he’s right back to it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sebastien releases Yusuf’s chin, but then proceeds to pat down Yusuf’s chest and shoulders as if a new injury would spontaneously appear just for him to frown at it. “I’m fine,” Yusuf says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you are. Thirty-seven thousand four hundred and twelve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s how many people lived in Altas before today. I know because we just counted all of them. All Thirty-seven thousand four hundred and twelve of them. All reporting that there is not a single person missing from their family or friend unit that they can think of. They’re all alive right now, because of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s started to slip a little in bed, so he shuffles his bum back a little, adjusting the angle as he leans against the headboard. Sebastien’s hands finds Yusuf’s, both of them holding Yusuf’s palms gentle and kind. His thumbs run over Yusuf’s knuckles, but he doesn’t meet Yusuf’s eyes. He stays sitting there, stroking Yusuf’s fingers and keeping his lips firmly pressed following the revelation of the work he’d done. “How long?” Yusuf asks, clearing his throat. “How long have I been asleep?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five days.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Five—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Andromache said if you hadn’t woken up by tomorrow she’d wake you up herself.” Yusuf has no idea what that would entail, and he doubts Andromache did either. Either way, he’s grateful that no one needed to test such an experience. If it failed, he can’t imagine how terrifying it’d be for his loved ones. “You’re an idiot, your majesty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A laugh bursts free from Yusuf’s lips. He slumps back against the headboard, squeezing his dearest friend’s hands. “Am I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The biggest, most absurd idiot to ever wear that crown. Over thirty-seven thousand people, not including </span>
  <em>
    <span>both </span>
  </em>
  <span>sides of a fighting army. Do you have any idea how obnoxious that was to sort out?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t win Cat’s people over if we slaughter their army.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They never surrendered to him when it was over you know. They’re all prisoners of war, being kept in one of the school buildings for now while we’re still trying to figure out what to do with the Altasians. Tell me, did you even know what was happening around you while you were summoning bodies to reform from </span>
  <em>
    <span>ashes?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That catches Yusuf in unawares. He blinks once or twice, but the news doesn’t register properly in his mind. He shakes his head, then ducks it a little to try to catch Sebastien’s eyes. Sebastien is steadfastly not making eye contact, however. He’s dedicated to staring at Yusuf’s hands and his hands alone. “What?” Yusuf presses. “What are you talking about?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mezzaluna had been disposing of the corpses. Burning them on funeral pyres. You...you brought them </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>back to life, Yusuf. All of them. Every single corpse. Even the soldiers on the battlefield that Nile set on fire - you brought them all back. All of them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf isn’t entirely sure he knows what to say to that. He’d never seen their bodies. Never knew the total number. He’d simply felt the death. The endless death and distruction of a city full of his people. A city full of people who had wanted nothing more than to go about their lives without getting slaughtered by an army of the dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were sad,” Yusuf says. “I could...I could feel them...all of them. I could feel their spirits and their bodies, and it felt...It felt like they knew that it was wrong.” Yusuf closes his eyes. He tries to remember what he felt. What it had looked like before him. “It was a river, stopped up by barriers that didn’t belong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In this case, barriers meaning death?” Sebastien asks wryly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm...it...I could see it. I felt like I was wading into the river. It should have flowed all around me, should, but the boulders were too high, and so I moved the stones. I just...I pushed them aside, and when they fell, the river flowed just like it was supposed to in the first place. None of them were meant to die then. It wasn’t their time. It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So I just...ensured that they could. The hardest ones were the ones at the bottom of the river. Sometimes...it felt like I needed to swim into the depths, and I couldn’t breathe as I tried to push them aside. But...they’re all here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cat organized a few parties to go through and take a count. The Altasian Governor—Tapis— has been helping us.  So far our counts are all coming up clear. No households are missing any members. Even the homeless population has been reporting consistently. They didn’t have an accurate census before, but...we can’t find any evidence of someone not returning with the rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over thirty-seven thousand...Yusuf’s shoulders feel suddenly heavy. He sags against the headboard even more, sliding down despite his effort to stay propped up. Sebastien’s hands are warm around his own. So warm and full of that familiar energy that Yusuf’s always known and could always follow. A rush of energy and a feeling of spring. “That’s...good,” he murmurs. Exhaustion tugs at the corners of his eyes. One of Sebastien’s arms reaches out to nudge around Yusuf’s back. He’s tugged forward until his brow rests on Sebastien’s collarbone, held close in his friend’s embrace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You scared me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t protect you from yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re my people, Bas. I had to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—I know. It just shouldn’t only be on your shoulders. You’re just one person...and even </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cat...it’s too much. You have to know that it’s too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf squeezes Sebastien’s fingers. He leans all his weight against Sebastien’s chest, letting his friend hold him up in the only way that Sebastien is capable of doing. In the darkness of his borrowed room, Yusuf leans close and listens as Sebastien’s heart beats calm and certain. “My life isn’t mine anymore,” Yusuf murmurs. “I don’t have the luxury of being anything except for this. The gods gave me this ability to do right in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care what the gods want for you. You’ve given too much already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Yusuf refutes. He pulls away. He leans up to press his lips to Sebastien’s brow, before resting his own brow to the spot his lips had graced. “I haven’t given too much yet. There’s more to give...and you have more to give too.” Because if his burden would be to give everything in him to ensure his people were safe and right, to put Stello Nicolo on the throne of Mezzaluna and correct this war once and for all, then it would be his loved one’s burden to watch. To watch and to support or reject him in his mission. A journey is not one that happens in isolation, and for ever step forward that’s taken, there’s another person affected by each footprint left behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my duty to protect you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Yusuf says. “It’s your duty to ensure our country succeeds. I just happen to be the King right now. One day...it will be you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking tricked me, you know,” Sebastien says. He doesn’t sound angry. Doesn’t seem truly upset. If anything it’s frustration coloring his tone. Frustration and a deep founded knowledge that there’s nothing he can truly do to stop the events that are already in motion. “You never told me who her father was.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t supposed to,” Yusuf replies. “You handled the revelation well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was I supposed to do? I love her.” Sebastien twists. His feet fall flat to the floor, his grip slipping ever so slightly from around Yusuf’s body, Their hands are still clasped together, but Yusuf misses his friend’s warmth. Misses his friend’s presence. In the weeks since their flight from Mezzaluna, Yusuf thinks they’ve never really had a chance to talk about anything that really mattered. Yusuf had been crowned King, and Sebastien had only been allowed the chance to follow his lead. Master and servant. Nothing else had been permitted. “I love her...and all this time her father…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We knew you’d marry her,” Yusuf says. “We knew that you’d be a good husband for her, and that you would be—in effect—my heir at her side. It was why Najima was upset when he tried to force my father’s hand in the arrangements with Mezzaluna. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My </span>
  </em>
  <span>father risked your life with that bargain. If I hadn’t...you died, Bas. You died and you would have stayed dead if I hadn’t done what I did. And—he knew it could happen, but he risked you anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She would have found someone else,” Sebastien says, but even as the words leave his lips Yusuf can see the conflict on Sebastien’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s waited nearly a decade to be with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bas. She didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>anyone else. My father risked the end of our entire line when he let Mezzaluna take you too. And Najima risked us both by trying to force my father’s hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never wanted to be King.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be King-consort. She’ll still make all the important decisions.” It’s a tease, but it doesn’t make Sebastien smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my job to protect you. Her. Shams.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it will be your job when you’re King too,” Yusuf replies. “That’s what I’m doing now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re never going to properly lead Shams, are you?” he asks. It’s a question that Cat and Yusuf had spent nights upon nights discussing. What to do when they were done unifying the countries. What their new nation would look like in the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so, Bas. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like I said….you’ve given too much already.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet, I still have more to give.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It takes almost another hour before Yusuf feels conscious enough to leave bed and find out what’s happened as he slept. Sebastien tells him that they’re in an inn presently, that the owner had hastily prepared rooms for them even while trying to track down family members and clean blood off the floor from when the initial assault ahd taken place. Confusion seemed to be the general mood of the city, with the inhabitants trying to understand just what had happened and how they were still alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Yusuf makes his way to the main floor of the inn,he finds Cat and Nile talking quietly with Andromache at a table in the corner. All three stand up when they see him, hurrying to his side even as the other soldiers and guards snap to attention. He waves off the formalities of his men, gathering himself enough to issue a semi-formal speech. “Thank you all for your service during my convalescence, I am grateful for your diligence at this time.” Then he turns to his husband, sister, and oldest guardian to greet them in a far more personal fashion. “Sebastien’s been telling me what’s been done,” Yusuf says. He cups the back of Cat’s neck, looking him over head to toe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gruesome description Sebastien had given him of blood spewing from every one of Cat’s orifices as he commanded Mezzaluna and Shams soldiers alike has been replaced by a fairly well put together substitute. There are deep dark circles under Cat’s eyes, his skin is just as ghostly white as it always is, but he’s clean and wearing decent clothing. Yusuf is only a little surprised when Cat takes his gesture as an invitation for more. Cat’s arms wrap around his back and he presses close, tucking his nose to Yusuf’s throat. Yusuf’s skin tingles. His eyes flutter at the sensation. He grips Cat’s body as close to his as he can, breathing in Cat’s scent. Sweat wafts through his nostrils, a reminder of the standard Altasian heat. Even so, Yusuf presses Cat’s body to him as if he could meld them both together. His eyes close as he relishes Cat’s very presence. He doesn’t care if the others see their skin touching. Now there’s no hiding what Yusuf is. Cat cannot hurt him, and Yusuf is tired of pretending it’s a threat when they’re in public. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you all right?” Yusuf whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired,” Cat replies. When he draws away his fingers snatch the sides of Yusuf’s tunic. Holding them both in each other’s orbit. The exhaustion that had nearly sent Yusuf back to sleep only an hour earlier comes back full force. He wishes, suddenly, for nothing more than to drag Cat to that bed and lay down with him under a mound of covers. Holding his body close, breathing in the tart scent of sweat and exertion. “Are you recovered?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well enough,” Yusuf replies. He kisses the corner of Cat’s mouth before hooking one arm over the smaller man’s shoulders in order to draw him to his side. Then he reaches for Nile to hug her to his other side, kissing her cheek as he does. “Thank you for taking care of him for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be thanking me, he’s a menace.” He thinks she said it as a joke, but there’s a tightening around the corners of her eyes that he doesn’t like. It makes his stomach clench as he looks her over. Cat isn’t the only one that looks exhausted. They all need rest. He casts a quick look at Andromache. She’s hovering just behind Cat’s shoulder, one hand serving as a guide at the base of Cat’s spine, as if preparing for him to fall then and there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to see to our people,” Yusuf tells them all. “Then...we should rest...all of us. Properly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you wake up just to tell us to sleep?” Cat asks, nose scrunching up as if the very idea of it reeked between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Yusuf lies easily. “You were so exhausted it was making </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>restless.” Andromache chuckles under her breath, but he can’t help noticing how relieved she appeared at his suggestion. He wonders just how many sleepless nights she’d had since the battle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They leave the inn to the general cheers of his men. In the street, Yusuf greets those who pass him by, but keeps one arm around Cat’s shoulders as both a brace and comfort. He’s not entirely sure of his own balance. Every few moments a wave of vertigo threatens to take him to the ground. Cat’s fingers tighten firmly against his side when he wavers. Quiet words of gratitude pass from his lips, though Cat doesn’t respond. Instead, he stays silent during their walk, allowing Nile to fill Yusuf in about the city. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grain stores throughout the city have been decimated. Many buildings were set aflame with the artisanal goods and materials being destroyed in the process. Nile had sent word back to the capitol for Amelie to respond to. Yusuf has no doubt that food and medicinal aid would be arriving in short order as relief efforts became the primary focus of the city now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the interim, families who wished to leave Altas for Shams’ interior were starting to form refugee parties to move together. “There’s a lot of them,” Nile admits. “With the farms destroyed there’s not much hope that by staying they’ll have any access to food or sustainability.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still, there are still quite a lot who </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>stay,” she hurries to reassure. She goes on, telling him about the governor who’s been working tirelessly to keep track of every one of Altas’ citizens and find work for those who are idle and supplies for those in need. “To be honest,” Nile mumbles after she’s finished extolling Tapis’ virtues, “I don’t understand what Mezzaluna was hoping to achieve. Much of what was destroyed could have been used by them. So why would they get rid of it? It’s just...so wasteful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s because the goods were made in Shams,” Cat replies. His fingers squeeze fiercely at Yusuf’s side. Nails dig unknowingly against Yusuf’s skin. He doesn’t react. He lets Cat have his support in whatever way he can. “Mezzaluna will not take from Shams what they see as...inferior.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can it possibly be considered inferior, it’s food?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat doesn’t say anything else, but Yusuf can imagine it for him. He closes his eyes, trying not for the first time to find some measure of understanding here. Some measure of peace. Mezzaluna hadn’t wanted to invade Altas, annexing it back as Mezzaluna territory. Rather, Altas had been attacked purely as a method of destroying Shams’ population. The rest was just solidifying the idea that the city would no longer exist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they hadn’t stopped the Reaper army from advancing, Yusuf wonders just how far into Shams Merrick would have had his soldiers go. Would he have had them advance through every city, every town, every lone farmstead, until they reached the capitol? Until every man, woman, and child lay dead? The land salted and burned to keep any future thought of community from spreading within Shams’ borders? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are we supposed to reconcile with people like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nile asks. Cat flinches at Yusuf’s side. Lips pressed tight. Niles glaring at something unrecognizable. A market stall, perhaps, that had been shattered and burned in the rampage. Goods gellantinized by the pyre. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf can imagine letting his anger flow through him. Letting him turn around and slaughter the very soldiers he’d brought back to life on that battlefield. He’d had the opportunity to do so then, when their blades had been clashing and his own men were fighting in his defense. He’d waded into the river of souls and he’d had the opportunity to let the Mezzaluna soldiers stay right where they were: weighted stones that did not belong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he hadn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“They’re our people too,” Yusuf says. Nile scowls at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not. Not yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were following orders. No, more than that, they were given amulets that kept them from dying, then surrounded by the very thing they feared and hated most in life. They were told to march on Altas - their sworn enemies. What do you imagine would have happened if they rejected those orders?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They started a </span>
  <em>
    <span>genocide, </span>
  </em>
  <span>brother.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Yusuf murmurs. “That’s why Merrick cannot stay in power. Why they must not be allowed to do this again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You truly mean for us to break bread with those </span>
  <em>
    <span>monsters?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat’s fingers are tearing into Yusuf’s side. Yusuf can no longer hide his discomfort. He hisses ever so slightly, wincing away from the sensation. Immediately, Cat pulls away. Yusuf nearly falls at the sudden lack of support, but he catches himself just in time. Cat as turned to face Nile fully, shoulders squared off and ready to fight. Yusuf wonders how long he’s held this in. How long he’s waited to have an intermediary there who could understand or support him. “I came to murder your entire family,” Cat reminds her shortly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile rolls her eyes. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, because someone gave me a chance to do better.” Cat’s finger swings about, pointing at the last building they’ve yet to inspect. The repurposed school building now serving as a detention center for their new prisoners of war. “Has anyone ever allowed </span>
  <em>
    <span>them </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do better?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile’s lips part. She doesn’t speak. She closes her mouth and looks away, arms crossing over her chest. Yusuf can smell electricity in the air. A nameless pressure emits from Cat’s body as he trembles anxiously between them all. Andromache steps forward, closing a hand around Cat’s right wrist. She leans forward and whispers something into Cat’s ear. He nods curtly, the pressure fading, even as he tears his eyes away from Nile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one died,” Cat says. “Regardless of </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>that came to pass,” he continues when it looks like Nile might interrupt, “no one died. Altas is safe...Merrick failed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For now,” Nile tells him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat flinches again. His arms cross over his chest. Yusuf wishes he could just go to sleep, holding Cat in his arms, and have a few hours rest where every part of their lives wasn’t designed to add more stress to their waking moments. “For now,” Cat agrees anyway. He sounds resigned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf cannot imagine him sounding any other way. “Merrick’s made the first move,” he tells them softly. “Tomorrow we’ll start considering our response. But for now...I need to rest.” He holds out his hand for Cat. His husband takes it. They walk back to the inn side by side. Neither speak. Sebastien and Andromache, always at their backs, keep a watchful eye on the world around them. Nile trails even farther behind them.  It’s been a very long day. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Yusuf is sleeping again. By the time they’d made it back to their room at the inn, he’d been slowing down. Sebastien had practically hoisted Yusuf the final few steps up the stairs as his endurance failed him, Cat neatly shifted aside as the head guard did his work. It had been strange, seeing Yusuf bundled under so many blankets and propped up by pillows after the battle at Altas’ gates. Despite its strangeness, Cat had curled at Yusuf’s side whenever he had the opportunity to, breathing in his husband’s scent on a bed that felt wrong in every way, but had been non-negotiable to Yusuf’s family. When Sebastien guided Yusuf to his room after their walk about town, he hadn’t hesitated to place him back under those same covers. “Sleep your majesties,” Sebastien beseeched them. He left as Yusuf flopped back onto his pillows, and Cat curled up against Yusuf’s shoulder drawing blankets over his husband in a way that felt mechanical and wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf had tried to stay awake. He said a few slurring words, made a questioning sound that Cat hadn’t understood, and then he’d slipped back into the swell of unconscious that had dominated his existence for days. Cat stays awake for him, holding onto Yusuf’s body, waiting for something to change. It isn’t that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>sleep in a bed. He’d managed the feat more than a few times. Rather, sleeping here with Yusuf, like this, feels wrong. Unnatural. He wishes for their room back in Jerrah. Their room and their couch and their nice fireplace where they could curl up and bask in the warm glow of burning wood and soft blankets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite what Yusuf had implied, his walk had been too much for him. Cat smells sweat wafting up from the back of Yusuf’s neck. Cat doesn’t mind. It’s a comforting scent. Familiar in the way that Cat has become familiar with everything that belongs to Yusuf. During their journey to Irania when they’d first met, Yusuf had reeked with sweat. Long days riding in the sun, with Cat pressed close to him, had left the Prince half baking in his armor. Even when they washed at creeks or rivers during the travels, it wouldn’t take long for the odor to return, blanketing them with its dusky undertones and the salty-sweet suggestion of its flavor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things had been easier then, before he’d met Nile and had to make a choice on his mission his mother had given him. For a few weeks, he’d simply been allowed to look out at the shifting environment, listening as Sebastien and Yusuf spoke to one another, and eating food that he’d never thought he’d ever taste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat snuggles closer to his husband. He presses his nose to Yusuf’s chest as close as it will go, squishing his nostrils in the process. He breathes in, letting the smell chase away every lingering taste of anxiety and uncertainty that had overwhelmed him more than once as Yusuf recovered. He was King-consort of the people of Shams. He had a responsibility to them when Yusuf couldn’t be there. And yet, he had not liked that responsibility in the least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shivers unconsciously, shifting in so he’s all but sprawled over Yusuf’s body. Yusuf mumbles something in garbled sleep-speech. His hands wriggle about but eventually find their way to Cat’s waist. They hold him close, keeping him tightly braced against Yusuf’s side. “Are you really sleeping?” Cat asks. His husband doesn’t answer. Cat waits. He closes his eyes. He wraps his fingers around the loose bits of Yusuf’s tunic, and tries to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He isn’t entirely successful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dreams that come come in fragments and broken wails. He hears Maya’s voice, instructing him on his letters and words. Sees his father drowning even though he knows that never happened. Feels his mother hugging him, before stabbing him in the chest. He finds himself standing at the bottom of a long staircase, looking up at the throne of Mezzaluna. He walks up the stairs, but the throne never gets any closer. He walks and walks and walks, and still it stays just out of touch. Always in sight, but never to be reached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he opens his eyes, only a few hours have passed. It’s more than enough for him. He presses a kiss to Yusuf’s chest, squirrels out from his grasp, and leaves the room. He won’t be able to do anything by lying there, and he won’t risk Yusuf’s health by keeping him from the well needed rest that he deserved after expending so much energy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a different guard standing outside Yusuf’s door when Cat leaves. Cat dips his head in greeting, but the guard ignores him as most of them always do when they’re forced to interact. Cat doesn’t say anything to the guard. There’s nothing for him to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat scrounges about for some papers and ink before settling at the inn’s bar. It doesn’t take him long. He’d familiarized himself with most of the establishment in the days Yusuf slept, too high-strung to do anything but wander and roam. Now, he’s grateful for the anxiety that’d kept him up. It allowed him the ability to work with no interruptions or complications. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat’s handwriting isn’t good. It’s the product of hastily provided lessons in dark cells with limited supplies, and Irania’s best efforts at turning him into something useful. Andromache had put it into their formalized lesson plans, Elena Copley continuing that mission when she could. Cat doesn’t even particularly </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>writing, but it’s necessary to some extent and he can appreciate the utility of it. Scrawling letters begin to spread across his pages as he notes down the complications he’s identified between the Reapers and the standard Mezzaluna army. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re meant to be sleeping,” Nile berates him nearly three hours after he’d started. There’s a stack of papers to his left when she comes to inspect his progress. Her hands flutter through the pages curiously, eyes squinting at what he hopes are letters that someone other than him could identify. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You as well,” Cat replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s your Moon Guard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleeping,” he guesses. There hadn’t been anyone at the door except for Yusuf’s detachment, and it wasn’t as though he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed </span>
  </em>
  <span>the protection. Andromache was good enough for now, and he wouldn’t begrudge her the chance to get some rest if it evaded him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not how this works, Cat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They can’t kill me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t matter.” Cat wonders when he’d care about what mattered to the people of Shams. Their preoccupation with propriety still doesn’t make any sense, no matter how often Nile has tried to instill senses of decorum into him. For someone who complains more often than not about the responsibilities that she had as a Princess of Shams, she certainly seemed interested in making sure that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>followed the same rules. Sebastien once told him that “misery loves company;” Cat suspects that Nile believes in the same philosophy to some extent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to talk to the Reapers today,” Cat tells her. Before Yusuf had woken up, Sebastien warned him that visiting the Reapers might not be politically advantageous considering Cat’s position. Now, such concerns would not be as highly suspicious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile’s lips still purse at his comment. She flips through his work with a bit more temper. He winces at the rough handling of each page. It had taken him a long time to go through, she hopes they’re not hurt by her treatment. “Why do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>have to be the one to talk to them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a question everyone keeps asking him. A question that people have been asking since Yusuf announced their engagement and refusal to take on a consort. Cat tugs at the corner the paper he’s working on. “They’re my people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re murderers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So am I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not like </span>
  <em>
    <span>them.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I not?” He doesn’t feel any different from them. He looks at his hands and sees all the ways he could kill every person in this camp. In fact, with his eyes closed he could manage the feat almost perfectly. If he didn’t need to worry about the strain on Yusuf that his brutality would cause, he could enact a repeat of the Altasian massacre without much trouble at all. Nile knew this. She’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. And yet… “Why do you deny what I am?” Cat asks her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you insist you’re like them when you’re not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But...I’m a Reaper too, Nile.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not like </span>
  <em>
    <span>those </span>
  </em>
  <span>Reapers.” Cat shrugs. He doesn’t want to continue this argument. Not really. He had a favor he’d wanted to ask of her, but now it seems to be inappropriate to do so. It seems wrong to seek her help when she so clearly has no interest in doing so of her own volition. Perhaps he could ask Yusuf. But no, Yusuf had tried to heal his burn-scar once and hadn’t managed the feat. Asking him, especially after the strain Yusuf had gone through already, would be cruel. But asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nile…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He touches his right cheek, stroking from eye to chin. He runs his fingers in a circle, tracing a sense memory from where his scar had long since faded. It’s been years since Nile had healed his own scar. It doesn’t matter in the least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile’s hand reaches out. She touches his wrist. He twists looking at her, waiting for her to speak. “Why do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>care for them?” she asks. “You said these Reapers weren’t the ones you lived with. That you don’t know them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s already told her why. He’s told her why in so many different ways and in so many different venues. He’s explained his thoughts more than once. The whys of his situation could fill a fruit bowl. Everyone in Altas could eat off of the sustenance of his whys and his reasons would still keep coming. He shrugs. There’s no point in telling her more. She doesn’t understand. Perhaps she’d never understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers tighten a little around his arm. “Cat…tell me. Please, I just don’t want you to get hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anger mounts within him. He glares down at the papers he’s spent all morning trying to put into some kind of order. A plan that he could give to Yusuf, who’s already so exhausted after bringing </span>
  <em>
    <span>tens of thousands </span>
  </em>
  <span>of people back to life all at once. It might not be perfect, it might not be exactly what they needed, but he thought it could be a solid plan. He thought it could work. Maybe. “They’re my people,” he tells her. “I need their help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not other Mezzaluna citizens? Ones that didn’t jump on the bandwagon the first chance they got to go murder an </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire city </span>
  </em>
  <span>on Merrick’s say so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat hisses. She lets go of his arm and he stands. He turns his back to her. The sun is rising outside. The Shams soldiers that had been on patrol are now preparing for a change in shift. Soon, Sebastien and Andromache will be awake and attending to their duties. “Come,” Cat beckons Nile. He walks out of the inn and she scrambles after him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The school-building is only a few blocks away. It doesn’t take long to reach it. It takes far less time than it had the night before when Yusuf had attempted to make his rounds about the city. Nile scrambles to keep up with Cat’s pace, calling out for him to slow down more than once. He has no intentions of slowing down for her. He wants this done, and he doesn’t want Andromache at his back when he does it. He wants to know that this decision had been his and his alone, unmodified by Andromache’s presence, unchallenged by Sebastien and Yusuf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yusuf would not begrudge him this chance, Cat knows this. Yusuf would likely encourage him to meet with the Reapers. However, Yusuf would also want to meet with them as well. He’d want to talk to them. Embrace them as his people too. It’s a beautiful thing Yusuf would do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat needs to do this first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The school is guarded by several soldiers who eye Cat with intense scrutinization when he makes it clear he’s going to enter. “I’ve received orders from le Livre that no one is to enter,” one informs him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not take orders from le Livre,” Cat replies. Nile doesn’t contradict him, nor argue that he should not be here. She stands in support at his side until he’s grudgingly allowed entry. Cat stands in the vestibule for several moments, reorienting himself to a building he’d only been in once. There are quiet voices speaking in his mother tongue, accompanied by the occasional cough or sneeze coming from the left. He takes that as instruction to turn to the right. The school is a corridor design, stretched outwards and running parallel with the main city street. It takes up almost a full block, with three floors above and a basement layer below. There’s a yard in the back of the school complex where children used to gather for physical exercises and games. Most of the hedges have been burned away and the toys had been reduced to ash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the coughing echoing at Cat’s back, the building feels dead. Cold and filled with a nothingness that used to carry its own kind of peace back in Città Lunare when Cat knew nothing else for years. He passes a few more guards who all stare at him with open disdain, but none stop him as he proceeds towards the open gallery where the Reapers have been assembled. It was a food-hall, Cat suspects, before the battle came. Now it holds hundreds of people pressed in tight together, waiting for a fate that they could not know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish to enter,” Cat tells the last set of guards that are responsible for keeping the Reapers in place. There are chains locking the food-hall shut. Thick ones that tickle the back of Cat’s neck and make his stomach clench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guards exchange looks with one another. “It’s too dangerous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If they get past you, we can’t control them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They will not get past me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a risk–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am your King,” Cat says. He barely manages to contain the tremble that had started growing at the back of his throat. He swallows thickly. “Open the doors.” The guards don’t want to. They look to Nile. Nile looks back at them. She waits. Waits for them to do something, and it’s times like these that Cat is grateful for Nile’s tendency to fight against any injustice. She may not appreciate his decision, but she accepts him as her leader—even if only in times like this. She’ll question him in private, but not here. Not in front of these men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You heard him,” Nile affirms when the guards are still hesitating. The guards look between each other. They hesitate for several seconds longer. Sweat builds at the back of Cat’s neck. He wonders if these men know that he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to wait for their permission. He could force them to open the doors. He could kill them here and now and maybe Nile would bring them back, but that wouldn’t stop him from making his position clear. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>do something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The men begin unlocking the chains and no one dies. They don’t open the door for him. He must do that himself. He suspects that’s reasonable, however. Nile glowers at them anyway. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He enters the food-hall and needs to close his eyes as the dank dark of the environment threatens to overcome him utterly. “Cat?” Nile asks at his side. He shakes his head, breath catching in his throat. When he opens his eyes, it’s still gloomy in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fire?” he asks softly. She nods and snaps her fingers. A flash of light swirls into existence just for a moment right in front of her. Just enough to orient her to the room as a whole. Then, with everything taken into consideration, she breathes life into the world and preset torches that had long since grown cold burst into flame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Reapers have gathered into a tightly packed circle. Their limbs are sprawled every which way. Heads rest on arms, backs, stomachs, legs. There are men and women spooning and using each other as blankets. They’re dog-piled into a heap and even as Cat approaches their eyes swivel towards him. A hissing noise hums along his senses, he finds himself responding in kind, hissing low and sweet, calming in a way Maya had always been calming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, the Reapers detangle themselves. They wake up, groggy and unused to needing to focus on anything at all. They nudge and hiss soft syllables that have no greater meaning than insinuation. Tears prick at Cat’s eyes. He finds himself walking toward them, legs dragging beneath him as he holds a hand outstretched. He makes a noise, quiet and hopeful. Someone reaches back toward him. Their fingers thread. Their skin feels like the quiet dark of home. He gasps, falling to his knees at the relief that floods through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It breaks with a yell—“Cat!”—Nile’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors are thrown back open as the guards stomp in with their blades aloft. The hand that had been such a reminder of </span>
  <em>
    <span>peace </span>
  </em>
  <span>jerks back from Cat’s. He flounders, falling forwards and needing to brace himself against the hard ground. Nile is rushing toward him. The guards are yelling. Cat squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to focus on one thing and one thing only. “Stop,” he beseeches. “Stop talking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he say?” the guards shout. “Is he speaking—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Mezzaluna, he said ‘stop talking!’” Nile’s holds a hand out, but the guards aren’t interested in listening to her. They’re rushing now, ready to hack their way into the Reapers who are drawing back like a desperate outgoing tide. Hurrying home to the moon as it calls them forth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gritting his teeth, Cat forces himself to stand. To turn his back on the Reapers to stop the guards from even thinking of carrying out their threat. In the most authoritative voice he can manage, and ensuring that this time his words are in Shams, he says: “Wait outside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ve attacked you!” He didn’t think they actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>cared </span>
  </em>
  <span>if he’d been attacked. Perhaps they feared repercussions? But they must know that Cat can’t be hurt by the Reapers. So why would it matter? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was not attacked,” he says. “Wait outside.” Neither moves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be best if you left with us...your grace.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait outside,” he repeats. Slowly, they retreat. Nile waits until they’ve left before whirling back to argue once more. He can see it on her face. She wants to drag him from the room. Perhaps even complain about his need to be watched by Andromache or someone who would show no hesitation in keeping him from doing anything reckless. Anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>inappropriate. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he should have waited for Yusuf? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat’s fingers twitch up toward his cheek. He rips his gaze away from Nile, ignoring her when she starts a few half formed protests. He returns to the Reapers and kneels amongst them. In Mezzaluna, he says: “My name is Nicolo, son of Queen Astra of Mezzaluna. I am your rightful King.” He holds out his hand once more, and when the same Reaper takes it, the same sweeping nothingness slides over his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Home. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He closes his eyes, breathing out a long breath of air. “I was kept in the Reaper cells under Città Lunare, I do not recognize you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angelo,” the Reaper before him says. “We were of Città Sinastra. We knew of no son of Astra that was a Reaper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We thought Nicolo of Mezzaluna died,” another informs him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat nods without speaking. He listens as they all tell him their names. They take their turns touching his hand, spreading the familiarity of their touch along his senses. Some do not tell him their names. They twist their hands this way or that. They hiss beneath their breaths in a tone that sends flaring affection through his body. He longs, suddenly, for his cell back in the city. The way his family had once embraced him through the cascading advance of their voices and sounds. Not a language, but a presence. An idea. Trapped in the dark of Città Lunare, only the echoes of thoughts could spread, and it spread through a round of voices all pushing the same feeling along. Each hissing breath felt natural, a building about as a conversation that they all took part in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me why you killed the people of Altas,” Cat requests when the ebb and flow of their greetings finally falls still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They said the city could be ours,” Angelo says. “That when we were done, we would be free. What are they to us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Human beings!” Nile snaps. Her Mezzaluna is accented, but the words come out fierce. Hostile.  Cat can’t bear to look at her. He keeps his gaze focused on Angelo, on the soft and gentle soothing grace that fills him just by being close to these people. Nile marches forward and the Reapers startle at her presence, unused to someone being so brazen in their proximity. “You killed </span>
  <em>
    <span>thousands </span>
  </em>
  <span>just so you could have a city to live in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” Angelo glances between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nile is a Giver,” Cat reveals. Some of the tension bleeds out of the group, though they do not appear particularly mollified by the information. Curiosity echoes through them as quiet hisses and gestures pock mock like spinning mirrors about the room. Cat touches his cheek. He feels the smooth skin that Nile had given him all those years ago. “She healed my scar,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>have one?” a Reaper named Ana asks. He nods. Hums his affirmation. His father’s burned bones had been ground into his face, and death accepts death as part of itself. The scar had torn his skin apart and left it to heal black and disfiguring, a constant reminder of the failing of his parentage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ana shuffles closer. She reaches for his face and he leans forward to accept her touch. Soft fingers trace along his skin. A shiver rattles his bones, but he cannot find any displeasure in the gesture. He sighs, closing his eyes as he lets her examine him as much as she’d like. He has nothing to hide from them. He never had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you heal us too?” Ana asks Nile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat half expects Nile to answer abruptly, her anger overtaking her attempt at politics. She dosen’t. She waits. She waits so long that Cat cannot bear to not see her face. He finally looks at her. Takes in her tightly presses lips, the clench of her jaw, and the flaring of her nostrils. She’s angry, he knows. But when she looks at Ana, her eyes do not have the vicious hatred that had accompanied most of her challenges to his decisions lately. If nothing else, she seems contemplative. Considering. Her curiosity wars with her hatred. “I don’t know,” Nile eventually settles on saying. “You murdered all of the Altasians and you aren’t ashamed of it. Why should I help you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because they knew nothing else,” Cat says. “Please help them,” he asks. “They do not deserve it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what about what Altas deserves?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one can move on when the pain of the past is </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally burned onto their face. </span>
  </em>
  <span>How can we expect better of people when we offer no chance for them to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>better?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile’s teeth grind so much there’s a pop in the corner of her jaw. She casts her eyes from one face to another, though. She looks at them each, individually, and inspects them head to toe. Their bare skin gleams white even in the early morning light, too unused to the sun to have any hint of color. “They should have clothes,” Nile says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat recalls the first clothes that Yusuf and Sebastien had given him. The way they’d chased off a chill he hadn’t realized was wrong. He remembers the blankets they’d shared with him. The warmth that had seeped into him for the first time in over a decade. The gentle smiles that Yusuf had shared during that journey that never once had tinged with fear. And then, when Andromache had offered him the uniform of Irania and told him that he never needed to be afraid of who or what he was. He could control his power. If he wanted to. “Yes,” Cat murmurs. “If they wish.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile glares at him, but he cannot bring himself to explain any further. He ducks his head and waits for her judgment. She gives it without asking for him to do more.  She steps forward and quietly beseeches them. “Make a line.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun is high in the sky by the time they’ve finished, but when they’re done, every single Reaper is smiling and Cat doesn’t think he’s ever felt his soul more at peace. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Cat was the first Reaper that Nile had healed, but the ones that she touched in Altas’ school were not amongst the second. The second came years earlier, when in the hours before Nile and Cat left for Crowen, Yusuf’s mother asked Nile for a favor. “The Reaper who came to kill us, we’ve reached an agreement with her on her position here in Jerrah. To that end, I wonder if you could do us a favor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d do anything for you,” Nile had promised, sweet and trusting and kind. She likes to think that she’s improved since then. That she’s not nearly so eager to jump at the chance to help the Queen simply because the Queen asked for it. She hasn’t yet decided if that’s because of Fatima and Ibrahim’s betrayal, or if it was because Fatima no longer had the same power and ranking as she once had. Afterall, when Cat asked the same of her, she’d done exactly as he’d bid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps nothing had changed at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not forbidden from speaking of her actions, Nile told Cat of what she’d done when they left for Crowen. “I healed that Reaper girl, Celeste,” she’d said. She’d thought he’d be proud of her, but she never could describe the emotion that crossed his face at the news. Some mix between surprise and envy. She hadn’t thought to ask at the time what he was feeling. She hadn’t presumed it would matter in the end. They were friends. If he was upset she’d know. He didn’t seem upset. It wasn’t important to ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Cat had said eventually. He kept his head down, staring at his horse. They never mentioned it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, much later, when Nile is well past the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth Reaper she’s healed, Nile watches Cat more closely. He sits amongst them, unbothered by their nakedness, comfortable in their presence. They hiss at one another, a call and response that Nile still can’t quite understand. Even so, it’s strange seeing Cat so at ease in their presence. Stranger still, when the Reapers call him ‘Nicolo.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For years, he’s always been </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cat. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A vicious, swiping, hissing creature that Yusuf had plucked from the desert by the scruff of his neck and delivered to Irania to train. He’d said he liked the moniker, that it felt like a gift. And yet, when the Reapers talk, when they use his birth-name, the corners of Cat’s lips twitch upwards in the subtle smile he gives only when he’s truly pleased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile finishes her job. She heals the last of the Reapers and stands with her hands tucked into her pits. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wish I hadn’t done it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she lies to herself as her chest tightens at the sight of all of the people touching their faces in wonder and awe. The youngest of the Reapers, a teenager with bony legs and sharp elbows, shuffle steps towards Cat and whispers something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat leans in close, hissing and nodding, hands touching without hesitation as he cradles the boy’s face between his palms. He pulls the boy to his chest, hugging him with such affection that Nile needs to turn away. Anger keeps building within her. Anger and frustration. She tries to swallow it back, but she doesn’t manage it entirely. Even so, now’s not the time for her anger. She knows that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>During her training in Crowen, Elena always said she needed to focus on the present. The here and now. What’s right in front of her, and not the past or future. But what’s in front of her is something she’s not ready to face, something she hadn’t been expecting to face. Cat was her brother’s husband. He was meant to stay in Jerrah. And while he was also supposed to be King of Mezzaluna, it hadn’t occurred to her until this moment: it meant he would not be staying in Shams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go,” Nile tells Cat. She tries to keep her voice steady, but it must not have been successful. The child Cat’s holding flinches. He looks at Nile with unparalleled suspicion, as though she hadn’t just healed his face and given him a new lease on life. As though she were something to be feared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat nods at Nile, regardless. He pulls back and taps the boy’s brow with his own. He hisses something, a sentiment that is returned by a few of the Reapers nearest. They collect the teen and Cat stands, saying his goodbyes in Mezzaluna. The consonants grate on Nile’s ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they leave, the guards glare at Cat. “Please allow the fires to stay lit,” Cat beseeches regardless, returning to his accented Shams that doesn’t please Nile any more than his Mezzaluna had. “I’ll return later today with supplies for their care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re Reapers...your majesty. They are cared for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat turns away. He walks back down the corridor toward the main entrance. Says, “I’ll return later,” and leaves it at that. Nile hesitates only for a moment before following. She needs to take a few running steps to catch pace with him. She reaches his side just as he starts to descend to the lower levels, stopping him midway down the stairs with a hand to his elbow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you really want to come here?” she asks. He presses his lips tight, avoiding her eyes even as she squeezes his arm just a bit more. “Tell me the truth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re my people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you couldn’t wait for Yusuf?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I needed to do it on my own.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You brought me with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can heal them, I can’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But why without Yusuf?” It feels like a fight. Even though he hasn’t moved since she touched him, it feels like he’s fighting her with every phrase. Each clipped word is a jab that she needs to block and circumnavigate. She struggles to control the temper that’s been boiling inside her for hours. “Tell me the truth, Cat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” he snips back, frowning and more dissatisfied than he had any right to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every single one of those people is a threat to us, you realize that right? And if any of them get out, we won’t be able to tell the difference between </span>
  <em>
    <span>them </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the rest of us. And I did that for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and now I want to know why.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you upset?” he asks in turn. Finally he pulls back, jerking his arm out of her grasp. He rubs at it absently, but keeps his eyes steadily on Nile’s face. Her fists clench. The urge to lie comes sharp and quick, angled on the point of a blade meant to hurt rather than heal. She has to swallow it down. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tells him, “I’m not ready for things to change.” It’s too general, not nearly specific enough for all the grievances that have been mounting faster and faster since the battle. Even so, he tips his head down just a little. He shifts so they’re breathing the same air, close and comfortable as they’d been for years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I do to help you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no answer she can give that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>appropriate. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Propriety rules this space too, even as personal as it is. She cannot ask more from him than he should be expected to give. She cannot depend on him to do as she wishes simply because she wishes it. That is no longer the dynamic of their relationship, if indeed it’d ever been that way. More and more, Nile wonders if he followed her for so many years because he didn’t know what else to do—didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>else to live. She says, “Don’t leave,” but knows he can’t promise it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses his lips tight together. He doesn’t swear to her, as she knew he wouldn’t. Cat doesn’t like telling lies. He does everything he can to avoid providing falsehoods. Her fingers spasm on the memory of her demanding he swear fealty to her and her brother. How he’d rejected it so utterly because he’d already sworn fealty to his own mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to see the others before we go,” Cat murmurs. His eyes flick in the general direction of the auditorium the Mezzaluna soldiers were housed in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on your own,” Nile tells him. He hesitates, lips parting just for a moment before he ducks his head low. He nods ever subtly and leaves her standing there alone. She watches as he gathers himself up. Back straight, head held high. His crown glistens in the dim light. Even in his shabby post-battle wear, he looks every inch a King. It strikes something deep within her, something ugly and malformed that she’d thought she’d put to rest when she went to Crowen in order to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mature. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sniffing angrily, she whirls about and marchs toward the exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guards watch her leave with deep frowns. She doesn’t pay them any mind. They’re not important right now. Right now, she feels the rising tide of emotions that have no place in polite conversation. All she wants is to let it go. She wants to cast out with every bit of energy she has, setting the whole world ablaze so it glows with the heat and passion of her ire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun is far higher than it had been when they first set out for the school and with it came the pedestrians. Altasians are wandering the streets, poking at the ruins of their workplaces and homes. Some children awkwardly cluster in frightened groups, side eyeing the soldiers that now pace the streets. A few shrink back when they see her and that makes her anger grow even more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She clenches and unclenches her fists. She tries to run through a list of Elena’s medicinal herbs that she’d had them memorize during their first week in her care. She barely makes it to the second letter in the alphabet when she hears her name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nile!” Cat yells. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yells. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She spins back toward him. She cannot recall him ever raising his voice like that, but he screams her name and runs in her direction like there are demons on his tail. Cat’s blue-green eyes are blown wide, his face pale. He grabs at her arm and she clings to him in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re dying,” he says. “They’re all </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And as angry as she is, none of that matters at all. She turns to the closest soldier. “Get King Yusuf,” she commands, because there’s no doubt now. No hesitation. No reason to wait. “Bring him to the school </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That done, she shifts her grip on Cat and together - they go to see his people. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Cat’s right of course. The army Merrick sent to Shams is dying. The coughs and sneezes Nile had passed off over the past few days as simple allergies or stuffiness due to their conditions, have turned into something far more sinister. She stands at the entrance of the gallery where all the prisoner-soldiers have been assembled. Perhaps most alarming of all, is their skin. Black splotches spread like death itself across their flesh, eerily reminiscent of the burns she’d taken from all of the Reapers just that morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of you noticed this?” Nile asks the guards as Cat paces nervously several meters away from the closest prisoner. The man is shivering violently, clinging to his clothes and hiding the dark marks from sight even as he coughs and gags onto the ground at his knees. Every time Cat seems to get too close, the prisoner reels back, cursing and spitting out words that Nile steadfastly determines she cannot understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They seemed fine yesterday,” the guard replies. He doesn’t seem particularly tart as he says it, but there’s a certain level of defensiveness that hardly seems appropriate considering all of his charges are very actively </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying </span>
  </em>
  <span>before his eyes. That he dares to let those eyes flick in Cat’s direction lets Nile know more than she’d care too about his opinion. “They were fine before his...highness visited.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before he took two steps inside, immediately turned around and came to get me?” she askes bluntly. Cat doesn’t seem to be listening, too busy pacing and rubbing his hands together in anxious uncertainty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” the guard stresses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you’re more unobservant than I previously envisioned,” Yusuf suggests as he enters the room in a great loping stride he had no business doing. Nile’s grateful he’s done it at all, though. He’s come sooner than she’d anticipated, and immediately steps around both her and the guard to place a calming hand on Cat’s shoulder. He doesn’t speak to Cat, but does look pointedly toward the prisoners. The nearest one glares at him with unbridled hatred. It’s almost funny, Nile presumed they’d kept that level of disdain for Cat alone. Apparently her brother shares in their fury. Sebastien slips in at his side, Andromache just behind him. They’re wearing their swords. Neither look happy. “When did your symptoms start?” Yusuf asks in Mezzaluna. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The soldier actually spits at him. The glob doesn’t get far, in fact, the man is rewarded for his hatred by that same glob of spit sliding down his own chin. He hacks and gags, pus spewing from his lips and landing in a sickly yellow glob on the ground. “Do you want to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>die?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cat hisses, throwing himself between Yusuf and the prisoner as if he fully intended to end the man then and there for the slight alone. Yusuf snatches at his arm, suddenly a restraint where before he’d been a comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, it’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That man murdered our Queen!” the prisoner yells, his passion sending him careening straight into another coughing fit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My uncle murdered your Queen,” Yusuf replies, calm as a pool. He keeps his hand closed tight around Cat’s arm. “But I kept you alive in our melee, and I’d prefer if you didn’t die here when I’d far rather send you home to your families. So tell me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>when did your symptoms start?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“The day after,” someone spoke. This persons’s blotches were climbing up over their face. Their nose was swollen. Their eyes set deep into their skull. Their lips were tinging blue. Each breath they drew seemed to be a strain, wheezing in and out as if strangled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re filled with </span>
  <em>
    <span>death,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cat says. “On a purely cellular level they’re dying but—” he glances back at them all. Then between Yusuf and Nile. “But it’s not Death that’s killing them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile avoids the irritant who’d spat at her brother and goes to the next closest prisoner. This one, a middle-aged woman with tightly woven braids and an exhausted expression, does nothing as Nile kneels at her side. Raising her hand, Nile touches the woman’s black-splotched skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billions of cells are rushing this way and that. Organs are pulsing, squeezing, and constricting. Enzymes are speeding from one direction to another. All of it at an accelerated pace that’s far more extreme than anything Nile’s ever felt before. She feels what Cat already said: it’s death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s Life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the cells are reproducing at a faster rate,” she murmurs. She doesn’t know all the words in Mezzaluna, so she keeps to Shams as she explains. “These…” her fingers trail over the stains. “It’s excess blood. Bruising, the veins are literally bursting from </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>much blood, but then healing over too quickly for them to bleed out. Their veins are getting harder. Stronger. But that’s putting pressure on their organs, which are working faster than they should be. It’s like...their metabolism has gone into overdrive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too much Life,” Yusuf whispers, keeping to Cat’s native tongue rather than his own. “Like Life itself has been let loose.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The medallions?” Cat asks suddenly. Heads snap up in all directions. “The ones that stole your power and kept them from dying, could it have given them too much?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea, we never saw them before the battle. Where are they now?” He looks at her as he asks, and Nile winces at the thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Sebastien answers for her. “They were all destroyed in the battle. Not even a clasp is left.” Yusuf nods absently, but doesn’t make a move to approach any of the individuals spread out in heaps before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the healer, brother,” she reminds him the longer he stands still. He glances at her from the corner of his eye, but his expression only becomes more severe. Nile stands, looking from face to face as the accumulated soldiers clearly wait for him to pass judgment on them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he turns his back. He leans toward Cat, whispering something to him that Nile can’t understand. It’s too quiet, and clearly not meant for her ears anyway. She doesn’t try to listen in. Squinting from face to face, Nile makes a personal assessment on them from what she can pick up just from observation. Some are clearly worse off than others. But it’s the root of their ailment that bothers her the most. Can they really be dying? If every part of their bodies is working as efficiently as possible, how can they be </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying? </span>
  </em>
  <span>They’ve tapped into a well-spring of Life itself, but Life is the patron of Givers. Nile and Yusuf both heal and exist by the extraordinary grace provided to them by the god of Life. If they and all the Givers like them can exist like this...why can’t these baseline humans who simply meddled temporarily with that grace? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile fidgets as she stands, impatience pushing her to want to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cat’s lips keep drawing in tighter and tighter. He isn’t responding to whatever Yusuf is telling him, but he doesn’t like what he’s hearing. Bitterly, Nile hopes that he gets used to that feeling. It’s something she’s been dealing with for quite some time herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nile,” Yusuf finally says. She straightens her posture on instinct. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brother?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need your help,” Cat responds. He glances fitfully at the assembled group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can heal multiple people at once,” Yusuf says calmly in Shams, as if he hadn’t collapsed from doing that very same thing only a few days prior. “You cannot.” Nile’s cheeks burn at the insinuation, but he presses on before she can say a word. “Cat is going to stop the processes that are overworking in their bodies. He’s going to kill them at their source. I’ll get in touch with them through my own power, and you should be able to feel them all through me.” He wiggles his fingers at her. “I want you to focus on healing any excess damage that happens in the process. I should be able to amplify what you’re putting out and the methodology you’re using to affect them all in turn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Healing them through you?” she asks, even as she glances at Sebastien. The Kings Guard glowers at Yusuf, but doesn’t say anything at all about him sacrificing his life once again doing something foolish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we can get it to work, it should work,” Yusuf replies. He shrugs. “At the very least, I should understand enough of the methodology by following your lead to make some progress.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat waits until she nods her assent, then he takes one step closer to his people. They flinch at the gesture. “A Giver cannot heal you,” Cat says carefully. “You have too much Life and...and the balance to that is Death. I don’t need to touch you to affect you. If you will let me...I would like to try to help. You are my people, and I do not wish for you to suffer—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reaper!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cat flinches. The voice is the strongest out of the crowd yet, but even so it ends in coughs filled with disdain and hatred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voices get louder. More sure of themselves even as they strain around their despair. “We’d rather </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>then let you near us!” Someone says. The one closest reiterates that point by asserting they’d rather die than let him be their King too. One after another they each say their peace, hateful and cruel. Shouts of protest, straining from the lungs of those who can barely inhale from the constricting pressure of too strong veins and too thick muscular walls. With bruises spreading in deep black stains showing just how brittle their bodies are even though they keep trying to repair themselves faster and faster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat’s breath catches in his throat. Nile bites her lip, struggling to keep from telling them all to do just that: die and stay dead. Andromache has been silent since she entered, but she leans in now to touch the small of Cat’s back. He leans ever so slightly into the touch as he closes his eyes and gives the assembled prisoners of war a slight nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m your King,” Cat says. “I don’t need your permission to save your lives.” He holds out his hand. Yusuf takes it, then Yusuf reaches for Nile. Her fingers wrap around his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of her sense come alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s nothing at all like healing the Reapers. Nor is it like the work she did with Elena Copley, studying the changing metamorphosis of cellular structures in the body and how they react to different stimuli. She understood the basics of her craft, but she could never find the source of her knowledge or ability unless she physically touched them. Her skin was the contact that enabled her to focus. For Yusuf, he needed only to exist. As if the air itself contained the data needed to diagnose and treat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same air that turns tight and concentrated, electrified as a spark of something seems to travel through Cat and Yusuf into her. She can smell ozone in the air. She can feel a chill start to settle around her. Panicked voices raise up and Cat stands stalwart before them all. One of the prisoners tries to charge forward. They leap towards Cat, as if they could physically stop what Cat intended to do. Andromache uses her sheathed blade to throw the man back. Sebastien takes his place in front of Yusuf and Nile, both guards perfectly prepared to restrain the feeble prisoners daring to claim the right to die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nile cannot feel each person in the room on the edge of her consciousness, but she can feel how Yusuf’s energy shifts and swells against her. How before, she could identify him as a healthy and whole person, a bit tired but otherwise well; now he’s filled with complexities and oxymorons. Illness clashes with health. Life clashes with Death. For all that he is a glimmering beacon of what it means to be a Giver, Nile can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>a loss deep in her gut. She can feel the growing swaths of </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong, wrong, wrong. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat holds out his hand. Voices break amongst the crowd. Shattered wails start to rise up. Nile’s skin prickles and twitches as electricity seems to spark along her vascular system. Yusuf’s energy dips and dives, and just as she starts to wonder how she could possibly amplify </span>
  <em>
    <span>healing </span>
  </em>
  <span>whatever it is that’s going wrong, she sees it: Death in need of changing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat isn’t killing them. He’s stopping the signals that are telling them to </span>
  <em>
    <span>produce. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To make more. To amplify again and again and again. And when he does that, it’s just like healing the Reaper’s skin. She gasps for a moment, recenters herself, and works on smoothing out Death’s jagged edges into a blunt and blank template that showed no improvements save the natural state of being denied by cosmic forces too strong to understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bruising on the soldiers’ bodies starts to fade. Their breathing grows lighter as Cat kills the excess cellular structure that was weighing them down and Nile gently binds each vein, organ, and fibre into the webbing of their normality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just as Yusuf had said before, she needs only to think about healing one person, and he castsher thoughts to them all. She can feel it, the way the room sighed in relief as Life and Death balances within the bodies of people who didn’t deserve this second-third-</span>
  <em>
    <span>forth </span>
  </em>
  <span>chance at living. Every body pieces itself back together again the way they were meant to be. Cat drops his hand. Yusuf lets her go. She doesn’t even feel tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were ready to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>for our country!” Someone shouts, blaming Cat for their ability to shout at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cat meets their eyes. “And I’m asking you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>live </span>
  </em>
  <span>for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing else that truly needs to be said, so he leaves them to their grief and Nile watches him go. Yusuf murmurs, “Well done” as he passes her by. Nile stares at the soldiers, each looking at their bodies with varying expressions of horror and contemplation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a better man than all of you,” she tells them. Andromache and Sebastien have left. She can hear Cat in the hall requisitioning food, blankets, and supplies that none of the prisoners deserve. “And you’ll all be going back to Mezzaluna because of him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a Reaper!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And he saved your life. When’s the last time your monarch did anything for you?” She doesn’t care to hear the answer. She leaves and lets the door close and lock behind her. If she stayed, she’d need to argue with them, and Cat had done right by leaving when there was no more need to debate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking out of the school, Nile’s surprised that Cat and Yusuf hadn’t gotten that far. They’re only at the bottom of the steps. And in front of them is someone Nile hasn’t seen in years. Celeste looks just as deadly and fierce as she had the day Nile healed the burn from her face, and just like the night Celeste had tried to kill Ibrahim: she stares at Cat with unwavering loyalty. Nile approaches just as Celeste tells them the results of her mission. “Your majesty, there’s a plague in Mezzaluna. All of your people are dying.” Then she describes black bruises, shortness of breath, and hearts that beat too hard. Nile glances back at the school. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s contagious?” she asks nervously. Cat opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is lost as one of the Altasian children in the courtyard sneezes. A cough chasing his breath away. It’s not the first time she’s heard coughing in the city. She just never thought it could amount to anything more than a simple cold after the great tragedy of a bloody war. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cat knew that Celeste had been healed. Nile had told him that. Yet seeing her face had shaken something loose deep within his chest. His fingers flexed toward it from time to time, magnetized with the sheer desire to <em> touch. </em>He hadn’t been able to stop himself when he first recognized her. He’d gone to her side and cupped her face with his palm, stroking the smooth skin with his thumb even as she smiled at him. </p><p>They hadn’t lived <em> close </em>to each other in the dark of the Reaper Cells. Not like he and Maya had been. But he’d seen her down the hall. He’d been able to meet her eyes from time to time, share in stilted conversation in their people’s tongue. He’d pled for her life back in Jerrah. Knelt before Ibrahim and Fatima and asked them to spare her any pain and torment. </p><p>“Can you assure us that she’ll serve our purposes and not your Queen’s?” Ibrahim had asked, shrewd as always. </p><p>“Yes, yes, I can make her swear,” he’d lied, eager to say anything at all that would keep Celeste safe. He’d thought, at the time, they’d send her to Irania. Perhaps that’d been a foolish thought, but considering what Yusuf had done for him he’d held it out as a vain hope. Ibrahim hadn’t told him what he intended to do with Celeste, and despite the numerous letters Cat had sent him while training under Elena Copley, he’d never been informed of her location. He’d only been assured that Celeste was doing well and was being well taken care of. Nile’s comment had been the only hope he’d had that she at least had some happiness. </p><p>If he needed to ignore that losing the mark simply made it easier for Celeste to move undetected, that was his own prerogative. </p><p>Seeing her in Altas, though, had not been something he’d even thought to contemplate. Even after Yusuf’s coronation he hadn’t thought of Celeste. There’d been too much to do, too many layers, too much chaos. With her here before him, Cat abandons any notion of decorum. He clings to her as they walk back to the inn. His fingers wrap tight around her arm as his eyes jerk to her face time and again. He’s hissing under his breath, low and keening and desperate. She responds, soothing and calm just as she’d always responded back in their cells. </p><p>Yusuf walks at Cat’s other side, grim faced and silent. Every cough or sneeze that had been previously seen as natural - suddenly felt all too sinister. Cat doesn’t know what to say to him, or to Nile who’s been nervously hovering behind his left shoulder since their trek began. She hasn’t spoken to him since they healed the Mezzaluna soldiers, and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear what she might say if she does. </p><p>When they enter the inn at long last, Yusuf quickly leads all of them — Nile, Andromache, Sebastien, Celeste, and Cat — into a private lounge set off from the main room. They close the door behind them, and Yusuf slumps into the first chair available, head sinking into his hands. “Tell us about Mezzaluna,” he beseeches Celeste. Celeste nods and gives her report as Cat awkwardly withdraws from her side and loiters between his husband and his family. </p><p>Ibrahim sent Celeste to Mezzaluna to influence the public opinion of the people where she could. He’d told her that soon, Cat would need to have that support of he was going to make a claim for the crown. (Cat dutifully ignores the sharp pain in his chest that comes whenever any of Ibrahim’s machinations came to light, but cannot help glancing at Yusuf who glowers at the news). Her mission took her from the borderlands to the capital and beyond. She whispered about Stello Nicolo, reminding everyone that he was alive. That he existed. That he was there. And when Astra died, she whispered just a little bit louder.</p><p>No one liked or wanted Merrick to be King, but they hadn’t thought they had a choice. Now...now the people were thinking. </p><p>“Merrick’s Reaper army was...not popular,” Celeste tells them. “Città Sinestra is our most Northern city, to get to Shams they needed to cross the whole of Mezzaluna. It was impossible to hide who the army consisted of. I was in the East when I heard of the army marching. It took me some time to travel across the country. When I did, I found only sickness.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Andromache asks. She doesn’t usually talk during these kinds of sessions, letting Yusuf as King take the lead. But Mezzaluna was once her home too, many hundreds of years ago. Cat wonders if she still thinks of them as her people still, even though more than half her life has been spent in service to Shams. </p><p>“Every town that the Reaper army went through fell ill. The symptoms were always the same. A kind of euphoric strength that quickly turned to debilitating weakness. Bruises on the skin, heart and breathing erratic. Eventually the infirm <em> do </em>die, but it’s an elongated process. Usually it comes down to a lack of food or water rather than anything else. With the amount of exertion their bodies are going through, they don’t have enough sustenance to keep them alive.”</p><p>“Only towns that the army visited were sick?” Yusuf repeats, just to be sure. </p><p>“At first,” Celeste murmurs. “When news of the illness started to spread, there was panic. Some people fled their homes to go to other cities. Then they infected the people there. It’s been spreading uninterrupted ever since. When I realized the effects, I came back to Shams as quickly as I could.”</p><p>Andromache murmurs something softly beneath her breath. She’s scowling, nostrils flaring as she seems to decide what it is she wants to say. Her impatience is too obvious. The whole room looks her way until she finally spits out: “What’s the public sentiment regarding <em> this </em>then?” </p><p>“It’s mixed,” Celeste replies promptly. “There are those who see it as a sign that this is why Reapers are not to be trusted. There are others who blame Merrick for using them when it’s clear that they only cause death.” </p><p>“The Reapers didn’t cause this,” Cat says. </p><p>“Any Reaper or Giver who comes into contact with one of the ill would agree,” Celeste nods, “But who in Mezzaluna would speak out?” </p><p>No one. Cat closes his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest. The soldiers had all stared at him with hatred. They’d despised him. They’d rather die than let him help them. They’d rather suffer than live in his presence. Even if a Reaper or Giver somehow managed to avoid getting picked up by the Crown’s forces, they wouldn’t risk their freedom to draw attention to the illness’ irregularities. Especially if they weren’t sure exactly what <em> had </em>caused the illness in the first place. </p><p>Andromache steps close to Cat. Her hand slides gently along the back of his neck, cradling his skull and gently guiding it to her in a short yet caring embrace. When she releases him, she takes her time in speaking. She looks at all of their faces, then resigns herself to in plain fashion. “I have seen this illness before,” she says. </p><p>“When?” Nile asks smartly. For a woman who has lived hundreds of years, Andromache’s <em> when </em> has always been more important than her <em> where.  </em></p><p>“Before I left Mezzaluna forever,” Andromache reveals. “Your ancestor, Yusuf, Shoshenq, he was quite pleased with himself. He believed Shams to be greater than all lands beneath the sun. He declared it a land filled with Life’s grace.” </p><p>“Shoshenq...he’s the founder of Irania isn’t he?” Nile asks. “There’s a statue of him in the gardens...or well...there was.” She glances awkwardly at Cat, and he winces at the reminder of the destruction he’d caused Irania all those years ago. They’d healed the plants and foliage, but the crumbling of the infrastructure that had started after his pain burst from his body had not saved the statuary. </p><p>“Yes,” Andromache says. “Shoshenq gathered all the Givers to Shams and told them to heal <em> everyone and everything. </em>For years, there were no deaths in Shams. No pain, no suffering. The Givers gave all of themselves to the people of Shams. And then the people did start to die, and none of the Givers could heal them.”</p><p>The wrongness of the idea curdles what little food remains in Cat’s gut. He feels a sudden tension, a need to expel what’s inside him before it can rot within him. “All things die,” Cat he grinds out, trying to quell the feeling as he rubs over his stomach. “They cannot live forever. It isn’t right.” </p><p>“Inevitably that’s true,” Andromache says. “Death comes for all, and she is not a patient mistress.” </p><p>“The Moon Goddess then?” Yusuf asks. “This is her doing?” Andromache presses her lips together. She looks at Cat, and Cat tries to divine what she’s thinking. There’s something she wants to say. Something that she is trying desperately to convince herself is important enough to reveal. Her fingers tighten around the back of his neck. He’s no longer pulled to her side, but he’s there, still connected to the woman who should have been his guardian as he grew up. He’s there, and she’s there, and when she speaks, she doesn’t answer Yusuf’s question. </p><p>“This illness is a curse,” she says instead. “It’s not natural, and comes only when humans dare to cling too much to Life with no regard to Death.” </p><p>“How do we stop it then?” </p><p>“Just as you did before, my King,” Andromache replies. “Life and Death must work together. It is how Quynh and I met all those years ago. We worked together to end the plague when it came. We stayed together ever since.” </p><p><em> They’re the oldest, </em> Cat thinks. The oldest Reaper and Giver who have ever existed. They lived centuries past the others. Some even rumored that they were both <em> thousands </em>of years old. They lived so very long, and their lives together started with a plague. </p><p>“Then we’ll work together,” Yusuf decides. “Celeste, do you know the extent of the Mezzaluna death toll so far?” </p><p>Celeste shakes her head. “No, but quarantines have been set up around some of the larger cities. I heard Città Lunare is under lockdown— no one in or out.”</p><p>Sebastien cursed suddenly, coming out as a strange mix between a Shams slur and a Reaper hiss. Celeste startles at the noise. She looks up at him, a hiss of her own coming out that Sebastien matches with an equally baffled expression. Nile looks between them as Celeste and Sebastien speak, her tone inquiring, his matching then shifting to something like shyness that Cat had never associated with Sebastien. Before long, Celeste echoes Sebastien’s hiss to show her own understanding, and he turns to Yusuf. “If it <em> is </em>contagious...sire the refugees—many have already left the city.” </p><p>The color drains from Yusuf’s face. He leaps to his feet and charges to the door only to stop. His hands hover at the frame. Whirling back around, he looks to Nile. “I need you to ride to Jerrah,” he tells her. </p><p>His sister blinks, mouth parting: “What?”  </p><p>Then he looks to Andromache. “And I need you to travel to Crowen.” </p><p><em> Oh, </em>Cat thinks. He bites his lip, then stands. “I can talk to some of the Reapers here…though I do not know if they will agree. Celeste—”</p><p>“Anything you need, my King,” she swears immediately. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Nile asks. </p><p>“If it’s contagious then we either need to head off the refugees and return them to Altas, or start preparing the cities for the contagion,” Yusuf says. “Celeste, would you be willing to go to Irania?” He glances to Cat for confirmation, but Cat shakes his head. </p><p>“No, send Andromache to Irania. She’s more well known there and will hold greater sway with the superiors. Quynh was on her way to the front with reinforcements from Irania, wasn’t she?” Yusuf nods. “Have Andromache cut them off, rearrange the orders, send a Giver to each of the major cities and start enforcing quarantine. She can go on to collect the other Reapers from Irania to help supplement the ones here…” </p><p>“But if they can’t kill anything without touching them, how does that help?” Nile asks. “You’re the only Reaper I know who can do it at a thought.” </p><p>“Worst case scenario the Reapers can kill them and the Giver can revive them,” Yusuf replies. He presses his hands to his face, rubbing them up and down for a few seconds before shaking his head roughly from the left and right. Blinking hard he steps away from the door. “Go now, please. The faster you can spread the word the better. Any refugee must return to Altas, or stay in place until they can be assessed...and Nile—Amelie needs to know what’s about to happen. As soon as possible.” </p><p>There are different paths from there. Initially the idea of Nile returning to Altas seemed most appealing, but Nile’s talents might prove more useful elsewhere. At least until the first wave is handled. Cat “When you’re done in Jerrah, circle back to Crowen. Celeste can help you there if it is needed. Elena should know what’s going on too. She may know more how to help.” </p><p>Nile bites her lip, but nods. She and Andromache salute with their hands over their chests, then hurry from the room. Celeste hesitates at Cat’s side. She reaches for his wrist. Hisses. Concern. He hisses back, echoes her tone of voice, then shifts it until it radiates <em> I’m fine. </em>“Do you know the way to Crowen?” he asks in Mezzaluna. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Once there, wait for Nile. Observe where you can.”</p><p>“I understand. And you?” </p><p>Cat meets Yusuf’s eyes. There’s a set to his jaw that Cat’s come to recognize well. A determination in his tired gaze. There’s only one choice either of them have at this moment. Thoughts of regaining a crown to reign over the dead holds no appeal whatsoever. Even if Yusuf could expend the rest of his energy to raise all of Mezzaluna back from death, there’s no saying if this curse was going to end there. They needed to heal it right. Life and Death together, restoring the balance to bodies who needed more to survive. “We will go to Mezzaluna. We will save our people...all of them.” </p><p>Sebastien inhales sharply. His fingers twitch at his sides. “My King…” </p><p>“I need you to stay here and keep everyone calm until Quynh arrives,” Yusuf tells him. </p><p>“You mean to go into Mezzaluna <em> alone, </em>just the two of you?” Sebastien clarifies. At Yusuf’s nod, the King’s Guard glowers. “What was the point of assigning Andromache and I as your protectors if you’re just going to leave us behind?” </p><p>“I told you before,” Yusuf sighs. “You’re not here to protect <em> me, </em> Sebastien. And one day...far sooner than either of us may like: it is <em> you </em>they’ll be calling King. So lead them now...it’s what they need.”</p><p>Sebastien’s nostrils flare. He curses that strange sounding curse again. He shoulders past Yusuf and into the hall. Even in his absence, his anger radiates around them. It forms a miasma in the air, choking and cloying. Cat shivers in its presence, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he tries to imagine what it’s going to be like to walk back across that battlefield where he first met Yusuf, only this time: to return to the land that gave him nothing but pain.</p><p>Celeste hisses a question. Concern once more. </p><p>This time, Cat struggles to hiss a response. That’s enough for her. She holds him like she never could in the Reaper cells. He leans against her body and looks at his husband over her shoulder. Yusuf watches them, resignation clear. It doesn’t matter what either of them had planned for this journey. </p><p>This is the way the gods wanted it. </p><p>So they’ll travel together, and they’ll do it alone. </p><p> </p><p>~~ End Part I ~~</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for returning to this story, I hope you enjoy it. </p><p>If you have any questions you can reach me at: falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com</p></blockquote></div></div>
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